Collision
by AirborneGirl
Summary: Brody's on her way back from a well-deserved vacation to visit her cousin, when tragedy strikes. Will Chris be there to help her through?
1. Chapter 1

**Collision**

 **A/N:** Hi everyone, I'm back. With a good (hopefully) old-fashioned Cherri story. Why? Because this is fan fiction and if I want to be in denial about Brody's leaving, than I can.

Because seriously, I can't do it. I can't ship PerSalle. I don't really dislike the character of Sonja Percy but I just don't like her and LaSalle as a couple. I thought the hug between them at the end of season two was too contrived. They won't fit together in my mind the way he and Brody do.

So I'm a Cherri shipper all the way and after this multi-chapter story is done, I'm planning on starting yet another one I'm already working on.

But let's start with this one first. For all the die-hard Cherri-shippers out there.

 **Disclaimer** : Don't own the characters of NCIS: New Orleans. I would never have let Brody go if I did. I do own all characters you do not recognize.

 _On with the story…_

"Want one?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Taking one of the beignets your friend and cousin just offered, you lean back in the seat of the train that's supposed to bring you back to New Orleans from a long week of shopping and sightseeing in Memphis. It was exactly what the doctor ordered, after months of setbacks and chasing bad guys and you can't be more grateful for Courtney's insistence that you come to visit her.

Your friendship goes way back, to where the three of you girls (your twin Emily, Courtney and you) shared the same playpen, with your cousin only being three weeks older than the two of you. Your father and Courtney's father were pretty close and lived only two blocks apart for a while. And even though your Uncle Greg took his family several states over to live in Tennessee when you were seven, he would gladly send his daughter over to stay with her twin cousins on most summer holidays. Other than Emily, she was your best friend and the three of you were an unbreakable trinity, especially when she temporarily moved to her home state to go to college with you, the three of you sharing your dorm room for the duration.

You were there for all subsequent highs and lows in life. She supported you when you decided to become a federal agent. You were her bridesmaid at her wedding to her high school sweetheart Adrian, only a month after your college graduation, witnessed her struggle to get children and are Godmother of her miracle baby (a healthy boy she named Mark) who was born exactly a year after she had decided to stop trying.

Everything life puts you through, you faced together, the three of you. Though, right after your twin sister's tragic death, you were in too much pain to have her around. Understanding you needed some time and space, Courtney left you to your own devices, only sending you the occasional post card or letter on dates that were important, always reminding you she was just a phone call or a quick text away.

So you spoke and called occasionally, but with your move to New Orleans and your busy life settling in, visits were often mentioned, but few and far between in practice. Only a month ago, things changed. She sent you a lengthy and quite disturbing email, telling you that her marriage to Adrian was over. That she had caught him cheating on her with a younger woman (an intern at his bank; God how cliché) and that he had gotten her pregnant. Remembering her own struggle with her pregnancies, Courtney had felt even more betrayed and had kicked him out, immediately filing for divorce and sole custody over now 12 year old Mark, who wanted nothing to do with either his dad or his new "family".

You called her immediately and decided it was time for a long overdue visit. With Mark on summer camp with his classmates for at least two weeks, you took your cousin out for some fun times. So you saw Graceland and all the other sites, depleted your bank account to go plunder the many boutiques and ate and drank all you wanted, and at the end of the week, extended the invitation to Courtney to come back to New Orleans with you.

She took the offer immediately, then reminded you of a problem you had forgotten about before: Courtney Brody-Philips hates to fly. Even as a child, she would prefer a two day Greyhound bus trip to an hour flight to come and see you. To say she was scared was putting it mildly. How could you have forgotten?

Oh well, you could do her a favor. The train wasn't that bad, even if it took hours. But you had already booked a return plane ticket. Perhaps…one phone call home saved your sorry ass as well as your depleted finances: Triple P was willing and able to cancel your plane ticket, so you could buy an Amtrak ticket instead without extra costs. It may not have been 100% legal and you're forever in debt to your resident computer genius, but you figure it was worth it if it means not going bankrupt on cancellation fees.

So now you're going home (by train!) and even though you still have a week's worth of vacation time to show your friend around your new beloved home town, you're not quite sure how you feel about it yet. Oh, it's certainly not the city, which you really do love. It's not really the job either, you love it also. It's just that…while you love your job and got as close as you've ever allowed yourself to be to the two incredible men (if not yet the newest addition to the team) working there, these past few months have shrouded your small team in a blanket of sadness and despair, ever since your partner, Christopher LaSalle, lost his beloved girlfriend Savannah.

You've never met the pretty redhead (or mermaid as Sonja likes to call her) in person, but that doesn't matter. She made Chris happy and a happy Chris meant a happy team, his generous grin rubbing off on all who are near him. Subsequently, when she was ripped away from him, his anguish and anger left their traces on your souls too.

For a week, you managed to forget about him and how the normally sweet, funny and good-natured man's now desolated features have haunted your dreams. Sure, he doesn't really blame anyone of you, unlike himself or so he says, but he's pulling away from you nonetheless. Doesn't open up like he used to do. Instead, he's looking for comfort in alcohol and long nights with anonymous women, but not coming to you or King. Or perhaps that's just a feeling, but you can't shake it either way.

And it hurts. A lot. More than you anticipated.

Getting closer to home with every mile and knowing you'll have to face him again in a few days' time does funny things to your stomach. The usual butterflies, those you've been trying to ignore since you noticed their presence for the first time (about a month after you started working with him) now quarrel heavily with the nervous jitters and all of them try not to drown in the (secret) tears you've cried in fear that your friendship is well and truly not enough this time.

When friendship is all you can offer, even though you really want to offer more, it had better be sufficient. And for a long time; it was. The butterflies, along with the casual flirting, added some spice to the great partnership you developed over the months and so you were quite happy with the status quo. You were never one to spill hot tears over unrequited love, never said or did anything that would give him reason to think you were trying to steal him away from his girlfriend. All you wanted from him was the trust and the partnership you shared. Anything else was a bonus.

But sadly, you haven't been the partners you used to be these last few weeks. You gave him your sister's necklace in an attempt to get him to open up to you; to get just a little bit closer, to let him know you were there for him, but he wasn't picking up on your signals. Not at all. So yeah, that's why it hurts you so freaking much.

Courtney shakes you out of you reverie by reminding you of something funny that happened during your trip and you smile at her gratefully. She knows you so well. You've told her quite a bit about your partner (actually; you could hardly stop yapping on about him) and without you having admitted out loud, she seemed to know how you really felt about him.

How he has turned out to be so much more than a work partner you occasionally flirt with, instead worming his way into your heart without warning and with the intent to stay there indefinitely, but sadly without allowing you to do the same with his.

As the train exits a long tunnel, which caused your phone to temporarily lose its connection, you bend over to take it out of your bag lying at your feet to check again, hoping for full bars. Perhaps part of you hopes too he would have left you a message. It's crazy, but there you have it. Why would he suddenly feel the need to contact you, unless it was some kind of emergency?

Concentrating for a moment on the messy insides of your bag to locate the device, you never notice the train hitting the breaks.

Before hitting something else.

The eerie sound of metal scraping against metal. The screams of other passengers. The lights blinking and flickering before falling out, leaving the interior only dimly lit by the setting sun.

Your head comes in contact with the seat in front of you. The last thing you think of before total darkness surrounds you, is Chris. And how he may have to mourn your loss too.

You wake up somewhat later to the feeling of something liquid and warm trickling down your nose. It's fully dark outside now, but as your bleary eyes adjust, you notice the slumped, still form of your cousin in front of you.

There's a bitter, metallic taste in your mouth; a combination of blood, bile and fear.

What has happened?

All around you, people are in a panic. Those who can scream, do so loudly, those who can't, moan softly and you honestly don't know which one you belong to, nor what makes you more scared.

Or perhaps it's the people who don't make any sounds at all and who don't move either that freaks you out the most.

And the fact poor Courtney is one of the latter.

Carefully, you try to get up, but as you lean on your left wrist, it gives out and with a small yelp of pain, you slump back again. Yet, the adrenaline has kicked in and all you want is to get up and out of here. On the second try, your put your right wrist down first and it stays put. Sweat of exertion breaking out on your forehead, you manage to grab onto something (a bench perhaps, or a luggage rack) and haul yourself up.

Time to do a quick inventory of your physical wellbeing. Blood is still dripping in your eyes, so that means you have a cut on your forehead or somewhere higher. Your ribs hurt a little and so does your left knee. Your wrist is swollen and you suspect it to be sprained or perhaps even broken. You have a few more cuts and bruises, but they aren't serious. You don't think you have a concussion or any kind of eternal injuries.

You'll live. But what about your cousin?

Stumbling over debris and whatever is lying strewn across the aisle, you manage to reach Courtney. In the dark you manage to find her wrist and with your good hand, try to get a pulse. You think you do, but you can't be sure.

Will someone come for you? Is help on the way?

With nothing left to do and not seeing enough to assess the situation of the other passengers, you sit down again, on the floor since you don't know if the seats are too damaged to sit on. A small girl crawls over. You've seen her and her mother get on and know where they were seated. Looking over at those seats, all you can see is the shape of a clearly unconscious body of a woman whom you can assume is her mother. With big, trusting eyes, the girl looks up to you, looking for shelter from an adult, anyone who's still somewhat awake and alert. You pull the child over and she settles against your body, only saying one word, constantly.

"Mommy?"

You say nothing, don't know what to say. You just shush the child as best as you can and try to keep it as safe as possible under the circumstances.

Somewhat later (you have no idea how much later), voices can be heard from outside. They are commanding voices and you sigh in relief, knowing that help is near. The moans of the still conscious people around you grow louder, as if they want to make sure they attract enough attention to be found.

Only Courtney, the girl's mother and a young man lying slumped against a cracked window are still not moving.

A flashlight suddenly shines through the compartment as two or three paramedics very carefully make their way in and you flinch when their beam hits you square in the face. After they quickly survey the area, they get to work, taking those who can walk by themselves out to the waiting ambulances first, so they have room to take care of the unconscious victims.

Or the dead ones…

In the hubbub, you lose sight of Courtney as you're being escorted out of the wreckage to an enclosed area, where the passengers with only minor injuries are getting their first treatment, while she gets carted off quickly to an open field, where Medivac helicopters are landing to take the more critically injured off to the nearest hospital. Your first instinct is to run after her, but the kind, patient paramedic reassures you that all victims will be taken to the same hospital in Jackson, the city you're now closest to. That it may not seem to be as bad as it looks and that she'll be well taken care of.

"Don't worry until you know if you should. Let me take care of you first and let my co-workers take care of your friend. They do know what they're doing."

"I know. And I'm grateful. It's just that…"

"This scares you? Of course it does. You just came out of a train accident. No laughing matter. Now let me take a look at your wrist."

It's not really what you wanted to say at all. You had wanted to state that you're a federal agent, but as the paramedic hushes you, you're too tired to try to explain again, so you succumb to her wishes and allow her to tend to you. Soon enough, your wrist gets taped up with a makeshift splint. It might be broken, but after you've been given some really strong painkillers, the pain is bearable. X-rays will be taken once you get to the hospital, but you understand that this is considered a minor injury and you'll just have to wait your turn.

You get a butterfly bandage for the cut on your forehead and then you're done with for the time being. Careful not to hurt your painful knee even more, you hop off the stretcher they put you on and wander off in search of your cousin.

The girl you held earlier, is reunited with her mother, who thankfully has regained consciousness and is being strapped onto a gurney and wheeled into another ambulance. You're glad she seems alert and hope they will both be fine.

It takes a few scary minutes before you find the still unmoving form of Courtney. Two paramedics are working on her, one of them fitting a collar around her neck to stabilize her, the other one holding an IV bag of fluids above his head and squeezing it gently. You take a few steps closer, but are forced to stay clear of them by a friendly, though sturdy police officer as not to disturb them in their efforts to keep your cousin alive.

Another gurney is being brought over and very carefully, she's being lifted onto it and strapped in. Desperately, you try to attract the officer's attention. You have to go with your cousin, can't he tell? But it's such a chaos, he doesn't seem to notice you at all.

So you just try and sneak your way underneath the taped off area. Only then does the officer address you.

"Ma'am, you're not supposed to come closer. Stay behind the tape, please, or else I'm gonna have to arrest you."

Crying out as he grabs your injured wrist, you try to get through to him.

"I was on the train with her. She's my cousin!"

He gives you a more scrutinized look and lets his gaze rest on the bandage on your forehead and the taped up wrist.

"Very well then. She's about to be taken to the hospital. You can join her if you want. Have you been checked out?"

"Yes. I need some x-rays for my wrist, but I'm okay."

He lifts the tape then and you expertly duck underneath.

"Thanks. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"Just trying to do my job, miss…"

"Brody. Special Agent Meredith Brody."

Automatically, your title falls from your lips and you show him your badge, which is stuffed in the purse you managed to grab as you were being taken from the train, though you know your status as a federal agent has very little standing in a situation like this.

"Special Agent? As in FBI?"

The older officer makes it sound like something dirty and you're quick to shake your head, which causes a dizzy spell you try to ignore.

"NCIS. New Orleans base."

His demeanor changes on the spot as a bright smile suddenly adorns his weathered features…

"Wait, New Orleans you say? You know Pride then?"

"Dwayne Pride? Sure, he's my boss."

"Why didn't you just say so in the first place? I owe the man. Get yourself on the chopper. And tell Pride Judd said hi."

In the helicopter, the paramedic explains Courtney's condition to you.

"Agent Brody, your friend has hit her head very hard. We have no idea how much damage was done until we get her to the hospital and into a CAT scan. At the very least she has a major concussion."

"And at the worst?"

He shrugs. You hear everything he's not saying and you're reluctant to ask for any more details. It's no use speculating. All you can do is hope and pray.

Hours later, around ten in the evening, you find yourself in the hospital waiting room. As with any other of its kind, this room does its very best not to appear impersonal and cold, and fails miserably at it. Or perhaps it's you. Either way, you can't suppress a shudder.

There's some more people with you. Some of them the uninjured or just mildly injured passengers of the train, some family members and friends of those badly hurt and some who have nothing to do with the train crash whatsoever.

You ignore them mostly, your thoughts with Courtney and Courtney only. After the helicopter landed, she was quickly being whisked away and you don't know what they've been doing with her since. You barely had time to sit down before you were taken to some other area by a nurse, where x-rays of your wrist and knee were taken. The knee is merely bruised and after being bandaged up; should get better by itself, but your wrist was indeed fractured and is now wrapped in a cast and resting in a sling. That was 90 minutes ago and now that the adrenaline is wearing off, it's only the caffeinated sludge keeping you upright.

There's a nagging pain and a dull fatigue in your body, which you ignore, because it's just not all that important. You need to stay awake and alert in case someone comes back to tell you what's going on with your cousin.

She needs to be okay. Please, God, let her be okay. Adrian may no longer care for her, but she has a teenage son who still needs his mother. Oh shit, you got to call Mark!

Just then, a doctor comes out, asking for the next of kin to Mrs. Philips. Upon hearing Courtney's last name, you look up. The doctor approaches you and leads you a little away from the waiting area, giving you some sense of privacy. He's reluctant at first to tell you anything since you're not a registered next of kin, though you are a blood relative, but he too understands the situation and after showing him your badge (and telling him your cousin is going through a divorce and wouldn't want her husband to show up), he tells you anyway.

"First of all, let me start with the good news: Mrs. Philips will be fine. She has a severe concussion and a collapsed lung, but no cerebral hemorrhage, which we initially feared. As it is, we haven't found more than the concussion. We will keep her in the ICU and under sedation for a day to fight this."

You exhale in relief.

"Can I go see her?"

"Yes, but only very shortly. May I suggest you try and get some sleep yourself?"

You nod as you follow him to the ICU where your cousin's lying still and pale in a stark white hospital bed. She looks so fragile against the pale sheets and surrounded by beeping monitors. You gasp and sit next to her, taking her hand in your uninjured one and talking nonsense, promising her you'll take care of her and to get Mark out here as soon as possible. You sit by her bedside for about half an hour, slowly drifting off, until a nurse comes over to send you away.

Standing in the hallway, your current situation hits home full force.

You're stranded. Because of the accident, there is no train service between Jackson, Mississippi and New Orleans. You only have your purse with you, but no clean clothes or toiletries since you weren't allowed to take any luggage from the scene of the accident. It's now almost midnight and you have no idea where you're supposed to go.

Who can help you now?

Another name pops in. But you hesitate. Sure, he was there for you before. But that was, like you just concluded, before. Before your friendship froze in between his guilt and your helplessness.

You have no guarantee he'll come. Besides, it'll take him at least three hours to get here. Can you manage to hold on until he gets here? If he does?

But still, he's the most chivalrous person you know, so he just might…

Well, there's no other way to find out than to call him. And since you don't have that many options left...

You fish out your mobile phone, but as soon as you do, a security guard gives you a stern glance, pointing to a sign that indicates you're not allowed to use it in the ICU area. You make it out into the hallway and, looking around for any other signs, grab your phone again.

And barely hold back a howl of frustration upon noticing the crack in the small screen. Your phone, your lifeline, is as dead as a dodo.

Okay, let's try the pay phone then. Hopefully you can recall his number.

The pay phone is out of order. There's no dial tone. Groaning and biting back a curse, you make it to the reception area, where another nurse notices you and your wobbly stance. She comes to the rescue.

"Please, sit down dearie."

Now normally, you're not too fond of people using these kind of degenerative terms of endearment, but you're tired, scared and in more pain than you care to admit, so you let it slide. In fact, you revel in this act of kindness.

"Are you a train crash victim?"

You nod, though said fact is still hard to wrap your head around. She gives you a smile and pours a glass of water from a jug on her desk.

"Here, take a few sips and then tell me how I can help you."

The water helps a little. You try to recall Chris's cell phone number when you remember you actually have it on you. His business card is in the leather folder of your badge. Relieved beyond measure, you hand her the card and ask her to place a call for you.

"Special Agent Christopher LaSalle. Very well, dearie. Who can I say I'm calling for?"

The sliding doors behind you open and you shiver in the draught it causes. It's nearly one AM and the night air is chilly. Plus, you have nothing but a t-shirt and jeans on, your jacket left somewhere in the wreckage. Thank God nothing of importance was left in any of the pockets.

"I'm Special Agent Meredith Brody. He's…he's my partner. Work partner. Could you…could you ask him if he wants to come pick me up here?"

"No need ma'am."


	2. Chapter 2

**Collision chapter 2**

 **AN** : Thanks to all who reviewed and/or added this story to their alert/favorite list. Your support makes the writing worth it. Also good to know there are still some Cherri-lovers out there. This second installment is dedicated to all of you.

 **Disclaimer** : Characters you're not familiar with, are mine. All others belong to CBS.

 **Spoilers** : Set somewhere in the middle of season two, though not at all canon.

On with the story…

 _Chris:_

You twist open a bottle of beer and put your feet up, as you watch the news on your widescreen TV. It's Sunday evening and after doing some necessary household chores, you're now enjoying your last quiet evening of the weekend. There's a report about a train crash in Mississippi and you send a prayer up the sky for the wellbeing of all those involved, including paramedics and local LEO's.

It takes some time for you to notice the buzz of your phone as it lies forgotten on your coffee table. Slightly annoyed, you grab the device. It's King. Duty calls apparently.

"Christopher, grab your gear and go-bag and drive to Merri's to pick up some of her stuff too. There's been a train crash near Jackson, Mississippi. Merri and her cousin were on that train."

Oh my God. One hand grabs the remote from the sofa's armrest to silence the blaring of the TV as you swallow convulsively. Did you really hear the words train crash and Merri in one sentence? Your eyes veer back to the TV. The news helicopter is giving you a clear view of the disaster area. The train looks to be completely derailed and it doesn't even seem possible anyone could have crawled out of there alive. Stupidly, hoping against hope you're merely dreaming, you ask for confirmation.

And get it. Oh shit. A cold sense of dread spreads through your body, making you shiver. Your voice sounds oddly harsh as you try to press the words around the lump in your throat, the Alabamian accent Merri loves to make fun of even more audible due to the added anxiety.

"What happened? Is she okay? Is she…? How do you know she was on that train? What was she doin' on a friggin' train anyway?"

Maybe he's mistaken. It wouldn't make any sense for her to be on a train. Surely she would have flown back home. King has to be wrong. Has to be.

"I got a call from Judd Cronin, remember him?"

You mumble a confirmation: you and Pride were called in to help the Jackson police department some time ago when a suspect who turned out to be a Navy Ensign, managed to escape from their custody after being arrested for being drunk and disorderly. He and his friend, whom he had gone to visit, had managed to cross the state line, trying to get the Ensign back to his ship which was docked in New Orleans, before the Captain would find out he'd gone AWOL. Judd and Pride are the same kind of hands-on old-fashioned law enforcers and the two men struck up an immediate friendship after successfully chasing down the two rowdy young men and getting them back into custody.

Pride continues his explanation. "Judd was on duty when they got the first passengers out. Merri was smart enough to identify herself as an NCIS agent. He says she's fine, except for a broken wrist and some cuts and bruises. Her cousin however is being hospitalized. Judd said it wasn't looking too good for her either. But Merri's stranded there without her luggage and a means to go home."

"I'm on my way. Have you tried calling Merri yet?"

"Tried several times, but I'm afraid her phone is either lost, broken or her batteries are dead, because there was no answer."

You ask for the address of the hospital the victims have been taken to and after getting all the necessary info, say a quick bye to Pride, and end the conversation, only to immediately make another call.

Thank God Loretta picks up. She's nothing if not used to being hauled out of bed in the middle of the night. Upon hearing your plea, she offers her help to go through Merri's things and get her everything she needs. All you need to do is stop by and pick up the bag.

Twenty minutes later, sirens blaring, you're on the highway. To the rescue of your partner.

** CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM **

 _Merri:_

He's here. You're safe now. Though you have no idea how he could have known so soon. Maybe he saw some news feature of the crash on TV or the internet, but unless Patton has told him and Pride you were taking the train instead of flying back, he couldn't possible know you were on there.

Yet, you're so extremely relieved to see him, it doesn't seem to matter at all. There's also a small tug of shame in the back of your mind. How dare you doubt him? Even though he still has a lot of healing to do when it comes to his tragic loss, he's as loyal to his makeshift NCIS family as ever. Doesn't resent Pride and would never think of abandoning you in your hour of need. The mere thought that he would, does not do this sweet man justice. So yeah, shame on you, Merri Brody.

He sees you wobble as you stand up from the uncomfortable plastic chair and a mere instant later, you find yourself wrapped up in his embrace.

Christopher LaSalle, you've noticed, is a tactile person. Loves the intimacy of a good hug and yes, it has taken you quite some time to get used to that, but oh, how you revel in in now.

His scent, the solidness of his body, his warmth, it's overwhelmingly soothing to your frayed nerves and if you could, you'd submerge in him even more. As it is, his arms are all that are holding you up as your bruised knee gives out. He manages to hold on to you though, as he finds himself a seat and pulls you onto his lap, not caring who's watching and what they're thinking.

Neither do you. You just cling to him.

He's your friend, your hero.

You're safe now.

** CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM **

 _Chris:_

She's not a really big girl in any circumstance (though she normally holds her own against much larger bad guys), but when you feel her body sag against yours, she feels positively fragile. Her arm is in a cast, she has a bandage on her forehead and her usually shiny hair is standing up at all angles, some strands sticking to her tear streaked face. Had you not known her so well, you would not have recognized her.

As an agent, this of course is not the first accident you've witnessed, nor is she the first victim, but, as you raced at breakneck speed over the highway to get to her, none of this mattered.

It's all so unfair. Hasn't she had enough to deal with lately? First she loses her sister, then the whole Moultrie incident gets recapped, now she has to cope with the trauma of being in a big accident and the possibility it might cost her cousin her life.

How can anybody be strong enough to cope?

Personal troubles set aside, you have to be there for her. All the way over here, you've been questioning your own actions, or rather, inactions toward her these past few weeks. You know she cares deeply for you, know she's hurt and confused that you haven't opened up to her so far, that you've found solace in nights filled with booze and meaningless, faceless women. Not that she has condemned you or anything, but you know she was and still is more than willing and able to help you get back on your feet.

And for the life of you, you know you can't explain why you never took her up on her unspoken but clearly heard offer.

How can you explain to her the doubts in your mind if they don't even make sense to yourself? These days, you doubt everything about yourself. Everything you used to be so proud of, is up for grabs. Your dedication to the job? Wavering; you're no longer convinced you're good at it. Your reputation as a Southern Gentleman? Bullshit. You ain't no gentleman, you're a hick. A hillbilly, who took sixteen years to find the balls to hook up with his high school sweetheart, only to lose her in one moment of unforgivable complacency.

How could you have forgotten to be alert? To protect and serve?

You wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Would protect those around you, those you still cared for. And the best way to do that was to stay well away from them, of not physically, than at least emotionally. Which meant that Merri was your partner and shall never be, can never be anything more. Maybe not even a friend.

It hurts like crazy, because you do like Merri a lot, (she's sweet and fun, smart and strong and compassionate) but it's no more than you deserve and the pain is enough of a reminder of what's at stake here.

However, now she needs you. Needs her partner and you're here for as long as it takes. Teetering on the edge of forgetting your intentions, but still reminding yourself that she's just your partner.

Nothing more.

Dragging yourself back to the present situation at hand, you very gently put a finger under her chin, lifting her head so she can look at you.

"Come, sweet Merri. Let's get you out of here and into a nice, warm bed. Okay?"

You see and feel her nod, but she's not convinced.

"Home?"

You shake your head. While you were doing your best impression of a Formula One driver to get here, King has come to the rescue, pulling some more strings to secure the two of you a room in a decent hotel. The confirmation came to you by text message just as you were parking the car at the hospital lot.

You're eternally grateful for it, not really looking forward to driving an exhausted Merri and yourself back home. You would get there some time after three and poor Merri would never make it into bed until three-thirty AM. Which is out of the question since she's dead on her feat already.

Plus, if you know her at all, she would never want to leave her friend behind in unfamiliar surroundings, especially if it's a hospital room.

"No, sweet Merri. King's booked us a hotel room. We can stay there for a few nights, so you can keep track of Courtney. He'll also inform the others in the morning. We got all the time it takes."

The relief is palpable and you're all the more determined to get her out of here. Thanking the nurse, you take Merri's purse from her and guide her to the car.

** CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM **

 _Merri:_

Still wobbling slightly, you're grateful Chris has his arm wrapped around you to steady you. With his help, you manage to get to his car. He chivalrously helps you inside and, muttering an apology as he leans over you, clasps your seatbelt for you. Good thinking; you're not sure if you could have done than by yourself. Or would even have remembered it.

Quickly, he checks King's message to make sure he knows where he's taking you, then puts the car in motion. As he sees you shiver, he's quick to adjust the central heating of the car.

"Is it warm enough for you Merri?"

As a lovely warmth is spreading through the small interior, you nod.

"Better. Thanks."

"Anytime. Now, let's see where this hotel is."

He finds it easily. It's not overly big or modern, but it seems nice enough. But truth be told, you probably wouldn't have noticed if it had been a dilapidated old barn. As long as it has a comfy bed with your name on it, you're happy.

You almost fall asleep leaning against the counter in the lobby as Chris checks in for the both of you. The elderly, bored, female desk clerk working the graveyard shift is a little reluctant to help you at this ridiculous hour, but after showing his badge and putting up his most charming smile, the woman practically swoons. His sweet Southern drawl, thick as molasses and just as sweet, does the rest. With renewed vigor, the lady beams back at him and gets to work. You would laugh if you weren't so dead on your feet. Soon enough, he's back at your side; some papers and a key card in hand.

"Let's go Merri."

He practically carries you to the elevator to the third floor, where he opens room 303 for you. It's not a very big room, but it has two twin beds and a bathroom. Whatever else it has, you don't really take in, but none of it is all that important.

Loretta has been smart enough to pack your toothbrush and toothpaste, but has apparently forgotten a nightgown or something else to sleep in. Normally, you'd be comfortable enough to sleep in your underwear, but sharing a room with your male partner means you have to keep some modicum of modesty, right?

Noticing your look, Chris's eyebrows shoot op in question.

"Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?"

He's so damn sweet! How lucky you are to have him here with you.

"Seems like Loretta forgot to pack me something to sleep in."

He nods and rummages through his own go-bag, extracting a slightly crinkled, but otherwise clean, black t-shirt from its confinements. It's gone soft with wear and age and his familiar scent has permeated into the fabric. He hands it to you with a smile.

"Will this do?"

You nod and accept the garment, taking a strange kind of comfort from it. The small smile on your face fades however as you wince in pain while trying to yank the shirt you're wearing over your head, momentarily forgetting about your injured wrist.

Seeing you struggle, Chris is immediately by your side.

"Let me help you."

A flash of embarrassment paints your cheeks red at the thought of needing his help getting undressed (though perhaps, in other circumstances…), but you swallow and force it down. It's either accepting the fact you need his assistance or hurting yourself even more by being stubborn. After all, it's not like the man hasn't seen his fair share of half (or entirely) naked women before and it's not like he feels anything but some form of camaraderie for you, if that.

So you obediently lift your arms so he can tug the shirt off of you. In the ultimate gesture of chivalry, he asks you to turn your back to him, unhooking your bra for you with strong, expert fingers. Quickly, you discard the thing and allow him to pull his own shirt over your head.

His hands linger for a moment on your hips and you feel his lips brush the nape of your neck, but you think you may have imagined that. Swallowing again, you turn to face him.

The soft pink hue on his own cheeks is too cute to be a mere figment of your imagination though and so is the hoarseness of his voice, somehow emphasizing his sweet Southern drawl.

"There. All done. You want to use the bathroom first?"

"Thanks, Chris."

Is your own voice quivering?

Best not think of it. As quickly as your tired mind and body allow you to, you make your escape. In the bathroom, you do whatever you can to fix yourself up a little. When you re-enter the room, you find that Chris has already pulled away the covers of one of the beds for you and is himself sitting on the other bed, waiting to use the bathroom.

Had you been less tired and more alert, you would have noticed the look of appreciation on his handsome face as you come in, but, ever the gentleman, he never says a word. Were he any other man, you would not have wanted to share a room with him. But this is Chris and you trust him explicitly and fully. His presence is a balm to you; a beacon of safety.

He won't let anything bad happen to you now.

You thank him with a small smile, before crawling in the unfamiliar bed, trying to get comfortable while not leaning too much on your wrist. Again, Chris is there to help. Like a doting father would do with his child, he tucks you in. He's so sweet. Kissing the top of your head, he wishes you sweet dreams. Then he disappears into the bathroom.

You hear him putter around, brush his teeth, rinse, spit and even use the toilet. It's oddly intimate and reassuring to you. When he comes out, it's your turn to look your fill. Partners or not, a beautiful male specimen is always worth watching. And Chris sure fits that description. So seeing him in nothing but boxers is a treat. One you take full advantage of, despite of your painkiller muddled brain.

As he turns to check on you, you quickly shut your eyes and pretend to sleep. For a moment, you think you got away with ogling him, but you think you hear him chuckle softly, so you're not sure. Oh well, best go on with your performance then.

He gets into his own bed and adjusts the covers around him. A moment later, the lights get switched off. Good. He must really think you're sleeping then. That's until you hear the teasing tone in his voice as he says a way too sweet goodnight.

Damn…

How are you supposed to sleep now?

You still wonder about that after over an hour of tossing and turning. It's not the bed. As far as hotel beds go; it's not too bad, with clean linen and a still fairly firm mattress. It's not the pain either. Your wrist and head are merely throbbing and your knee feels awkwardly stiff, but you're not in agony.

It's just the impact of this day. The screeching halt of the train, the panic and the sounds of people in pain. The image of your cousin's unconscious body. It's like a movie scene on constant repeat in a broken DVD player. And no remote to shut it off.

Deciding to get some water, you get up, careful not to wake Chris. Much as you could use his sweet, reassuring presence, he drove to you in the middle of the night and you can't just wake him up because you need him. He needs his sleep too.

The cool water helps a little, but you can't get back to bed yet. Now fully awake, you open the door to the small balcony and slip out. There's barely enough room to stand and it's way too cold to be standing there dressed in nothing but a thin t-shirt, but the wind does blow away some of the leftover headache. Yet, you'll freeze to death if you don't go back in soon.

Just a few moments longer…

Two strong arms wrap themselves around your waist and you startle a little. It takes a split second for you to realize it is Chris holding you and immediately you relax against his solid chest, reveling in his warmth and his calmness.

"What are you doing here, Merri? You feel like an icicle."

His whispered voice tickles your neck and you shiver a little extra.

"Couldn't sleep. Too much going on in my head."

Then, as an afterthought:

"Sorry for waking you."

"It's okay. Now, let's get back inside. It's only two-thirty AM."

You nod and allow him to guide you back in and close the balcony door. He gets back into his bed, but you feel reluctant to go back to yours, not really looking forward to another couple of hours of lying awake. You kind of wish he would have held on to you a bit longer. Perhaps…

"Chris?"

"What is it, Merri?"

"I…" How are you supposed to ask him for a favor like this? What will he think of you? Isn't it too soon after Savannah?

He gets it though. How, you don't know, but with the sweetest gesture, he lifts his covers.

"Come here."

It's an offer you can't and won't refuse, so you crawl in next to him. There's not much room for the both of you, but that was the point. Though it's a bit of a struggle to get comfortable, once you do, it's the best feeling you ever had. You're lying sprawled on this naked chest, the soft hairs tickling your cheek most pleasantly. Your plastered wrist is draped over his solid stomach. His arms are holding you close to him, warding off the cold and the demons of your dreams. They don't stand a chance against the bubble of protection he's created.

Christopher LaSalle radiates warmth, safety, love.

Soon enough, sleep dawns on you. 'Pity', you think, right before the darkness claims you whole.

** CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM **

 _Chris:_

This is partners taking care of each other. Nothing more. Merri needs you now, for strength and comfort and that's what you're giving her. It's nothing more than she would have done for you. Or what King would have done for her if he had been the one here with her. Though the thought of King being the one to hold her like this makes you cringe. Even if his intentions were as pure as anything and even if he would have comforted her in the exact same way he would have done Laurel, Merri's not his to touch. She just isn't.

But is she yours then Chris? And if even the most remote little thought or feeling affirms it, doesn't that go against anything you just promised yourself?

Yeah, but it's only for one night. Because she needs you and you don't have the heart to reject her. That would be unnecessarily cruel. She's finally sleeping and she could use all the rest she can get as the next few days will be hard enough on her.

This has nothing to do with you and your conflicting emotions; nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that you've gotten tired of the endless routine of picking up a lady at the bar, using your charm to trick her into taking you home, only for you to have not even a full night of meaningless sex and leave before the sun comes up, feeling neither guilty nor satisfied, just…empty, restless, like a junkie trying to get his next fix and not caring if the next shot will be his last. These nights haven't even begun to fill the void in your heart, let alone silence the nagging voice that takes a sick joy in putting your guilt over losing your girlfriend on full display.

Not that you would ever want to use Merri in the same fashion, but dear God does it feel good to be this close to a person again, other than with the intention of having sex with them. To be needed, even if only for a moment, to be someone's center, their anchor, their guide. And for this time, to be there, at the right time and the right place, instead of being lured away by something as trivial as a bottle of wine.

You have no idea what this means in the long run, if anything at all and you're too tired to overthink it. So, selfish or not, this night, you, Chris LaSalle will take the comfort you so desperately need by being the knight in shining (if somewhat corroded) armor for your partner, your damsel in distress.

And if that's wrong, you don't care about being right.

 _TBC_

 _As always, reviews are much appreciated. Thanks for your time and attention._


	3. Chapter 3

**Collision part 3**

 **AN:** Sorry it took me so long to update, but as I'm moving house, a lot of stuff is going on and I kinda forgot. I still hope you like this next chapter, all from Merri's POV as she tries to come to terms with the situation she's in.

 **Disclaimer** : Any names you recognize, I just borrowed from CBS. Any other names are mine.

On with the story…

When you wake up, for a moment you're confused. Your head is fuzzy, the room is spinning and once it stops, you're none the wiser. Where are you? What happened? Where's Courtney?

Yawning and stretching, you lift your arms and are thus reminded of the presence of a cast on your wrist.

And everything comes crashing back.

The accident. Courtney being taken to the hospital. Chris coming to the rescue. Spending the night wrapped in his arms…

Speaking of…where is he? You're still in his bed, but somehow he must have managed to crawl from underneath you and disappear without waking you in the process.

Just when you start to panic a little, the door opens and he comes in, fully dressed and smiling warmly when he sees you've woken up.

"Mornin', Merri. How ya feelin'?

"Okay I guess. Still a bit of a headache. Didn't know where I was when I woke up alone though."

Does that sound desperate? Or accusatory? You hope not, but Chris is quick to apologize anyway.

"Sorry 'bout that. But I got a call from King, wanting an update and then one from Patton. He managed to automatically have all calls made to your broken phone put forward to mine. So we won't miss a thing."

His explanation is interrupted by a knock on the door. He quickly walks over to the door and after a quick glance through the spy hole, opens it. A young man is standing in front of him, carrying a full breakfast tray.

"Room Service, Sir."

"I'm sorry, we didn't order any room service."

The boy shrugs and quickly glances at the note taped to the tray.

"Compliments of a Dwayne Pride, Sir. Called especially this morning to have this delivered."

With a smile, Chris takes your boss's offerings and after tipping the young servant, closes the door and sets the tray down on the small table on the far side of the room.

There's a thermos of freshly brewed coffee, a pitcher of juice, some donuts and a selection of fresh fruit. You were just about to say you aren't hungry, but the smell of the delicious looking food makes your stomach grumble, reminding you that the last thing you've (half) eaten is the beignet on the train hours ago.

Hearing your insides react, Chris smiles and pours the dark, strong drink in two mugs, adding cream (a little) and sugar (a lot) until yours is just as he knows you like it. Eagerly, you stretch your uninjured arm and take it from him, humming softly in pleasure at the first sip and not caring it's still quite hot. God, you needed this! The bite you take out of the donut he hands you next is equally satisfying.

Clearly happy you've slept well and haven't lost you apatite, Chris sits down on the edge of his rumpled bed and bites into his own breakfast.

"These are good," he mumbles around a mouthful of pastry. You grin. Sometimes, when he forgets to be a gentleman, he's the cutest man-child you've ever hung out with. He has no idea how it boosts your mood.

And you're going to need it too. There's so much to do. Inform Mark (and Adrian, you suppose), go visit Courtney, try and figure out what happened to your stuff (though that's not a priority); getting in touch with insurance companies, finding out what the hell caused the accident (you just know Pride is interfering with the investigation, jurisdiction issues notwithstanding)…your head's spinning just thinking about it.

So in tune with your emotions is Chris, that he immediately detects the change in you.

"Merri, you okay?"

You manage a small smile.

"Yeah, I guess. Just thinking about everything I have to do. It's kind of overwhelming."

"I know. But I'm here for you. Let me take care of things, okay?"

So sweet. You put your small, uninjured hand in his and he squeezes yours gently.

"Thank you Chris. For everything."

"We're partners, Merri. We have each other's back. Always."

The look he gives you is of such a burning intensity, you feel a blush coming up. You want to look away, but like a deer caught in the headlights, you're transfixed and unable to move. Just when he seems to be leaning in closer, his phone rings. Startled and red faced, he pries the device from his jeans pocket, breaking your connection and therefor, the spell woven around you, leaving you shivering in the sudden cold and confusion.

Was he about to kiss you?

And even if he was, what would it have meant? Just some pressure relief? A pity kiss? Or something more? Are you ready for that? With Chris? Is he? With you?

Maybe it was nothing. Most likely. Just a spur of the moment thing, fueled by leftover adrenaline and gratitude, combined with the sheer relief you've made it out alive and relatively unharmed. You dare a glance in his direction. Chris has put his serious face back on as he's listening intently to whoever is on the phone. After a while, he ends the call with a 'thank you' and puts the device back on the table.

"That was the hospital. They've moved your cousin to a regular room. She's slept well through the night without any complications and they'll try and wake her up this afternoon. If all goes well, you can visit her in the evening."

You nod in thanks, completely back to reality. One that has no place for any semi-romantic thoughts of Chris and what will probably never happen between you. You should really stop overthinking stuff like this.

"I should call her ex. He has to inform their son. They need to know how she's doing."

"Want me to do that?"

With your contempt for the man who betrayed Courtney still fresh in your heart, you nod again.

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all. You just finish your breakfast."

Having gotten all phone numbers he needs from your cousin's cell phone (she had it in the pocket of the jacket she was wearing when the accident happened and the paramedic had given it to you just before she was being taken aboard of the medivac helicopter), he starts dialing the number of her ex-husband.

From the look on his face, it's not a pleasant conversation, but even on the phone, it's pretty clear who's in charge. One thing you really admire in Chris as an agent is that he doesn't take anyone's bullshit, whether witness or suspect, whether cooperating or not. He'll give it to you straight, doesn't pull punches, at least if he suspects someone's not honest with him.

He disconnects the call and gives you a smirk.

"Pleasant fellah."

"Yeah. At least he was. But that was a long time ago. What did he say?"

"Nothing much. Told me he'd track down his son and let him know what was going on and asked me to inform him when she was coming home. That's all."

"Oh God, poor Mark. He'll get the scare of his life and his dad won't even try to soften the blow."

"I know, Merri, but there ain't nothin' we can do 'bout that. Does Mark have your phone number?"

Does he? You try to remember…

"Wait, he does. I gave him my calling card. He thought it was pretty cool."

Chris smiles. "That's because you are, Merri. And if he needs to, he can always give you a call, right? I'm sure the people in charge of the summer camp will allow him to call you if he needs to."

"I guess you're right. Though I don't feel particularly cool today."

"Nobody expects you to. That's what I'm here for. Now, why don't you go take a shower and maybe, after that, we can get you some basics to wear. I don't know how long we'll be stuck here, but since we still have to figure out what happened to your luggage, you may want to buy some new stuff. It could take days before they get every single item on that train sorted and returned."

You shrug.

"Well, I guess there goes the rest of my savings account."

He shakes his head.

"Nope. Discussed it with Pride this mornin'. He said to use the company card. As long as you don't buy designer outfits, he'll smooth it over with the Director."

"I can't accept that!"

"Yes you can. And you're gonna. We've all had our clothes damaged or personal stuff broken on the job before. Comes with the territory."

"Yeah, but this didn't happen on the job."

"Technicality, Merri. Just take the offer. It's made in kindness. Don't insult King or any of us by not accepting."

Insult? What does he mean? The confusion must be clearly written on your face, because he gives you another smile.

"Merri, we just want to help. In any way we can. So just let us. Please."

You nod. "Okay."

Speaking of needing help.

"Eh…Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you help me tape up my hand? The cast can't get wet."

"Sure…let's see what I can find to use…"

He digs up a plastic grocery bag and rips it to pieces, wrapping it around the cast and taping it all up.

"There, that should hold okay."

"Yeah, I think so too. Now would you..."

You turn your back to him and lift your arms.

"Oh…"

He catches on and quickly lifts the shirt over your head, tossing it on the bed. He quickly averts his gaze and remains standing with his own back turned to you until you're in the bathroom.

"Don't lock it Merri, please. Just for safety's sake."

"Okay, I won't."

He's right. You are clumsy, your knee is stiff and your head is still buzzing quite a bit, so he needs to be able to come to your rescue should you slip and fall in the shower. Plus, he's too much of a gentleman to do anything inappropriate.

More's the pity.

Wait, shame on you Meredith Brody! He's your partner and nothing more! Quickly, try changing the subject. Ask him something businesslike.

"Do you want to take a shower too?"

His warm, deep chuckle fills the room as well as your heart.

"Are you offering to share, Merri dear?"

Oh blast! That was so not your intention…no, really, it wasn't.

"You wish, LaSalle! I just want to know if I should save you some hot water."

"If we share, we both save hot water. It's really eco-friendly, come to think if it."

"Yeah, well, think of other ways to save the planet, my friend. I'm taking this shower alone."

A deep, exaggerated sigh.

"Have it your way, spoilsport. Hog all the hot water. I'll just shower tonight."

"Better make it a cold one."

"Cruel, Merri. After all I've done for you."

Sticking your head around the bathroom corner, you wink at him.

"You can have the last donut."

"That was mine anyway!"

"And I let you have it."

"That's not how gratitude usually works, Brody."

"Works for me."

He groans and throws a pillow in your direction.

"Go, go shower, you…"

Giggling, you shut (but don't lock) the door, not letting him finish his sentence. The warm spray of the shower helps you relax a little and after you scrubbed the dirt and the blood and the hospital smell from your skin, you feel a lot better, even a bit optimistic.

Drying yourself off as best as you can one-handed and wrapping the soft, white terrycloth towel tightly around you, you exit the bathroom, to find Chris sitting on the bed with the local News Channel on, which is showing footage of the train wreckage. Upon seeing you enter, he zaps away, considering the possibility that you're not ready to be confronted by the sight of the accident only the morning after.

But something tells you you need to see. If only to make it real. Securing the towel tighter around you, you sit down next to him

"Please, turn it back on."

"You sure? We can watch something else if you like."

"No, I…I want to see."

"Okay."

He zaps back and you watch the features, the interviews with law enforcement officers, the highlights of the public official press conference held last night and the interviews with witnesses and other victims, read the repeating news bar and try to reconcile yourself with the fact you were there when it happened. A victim, just as much as the young man standing in front of the camera with three microphones pressed underneath his nose, dried up blood stains eerily visible on his bright blue t-shirt and the fear still in his eyes.

Just as much as the nineteen casualties, where last night there were only(!) twelve.

Nineteen dead. So far. With twelve more people still in ICU and their condition considered critical, the death toll could end up being thirty-one. Most of them were in the first wagon, right behind the driver, who's amongst those who are critical. The first two wagons derailed completely and you were just lucky you booked your tickets so late, meaning you were in one of the last wagons, which remained upright and relatively undamaged. The fact you were bending over, rummaging through the contents of your purse, saved you. It was all just a coincidence.

And it sure feels wrong. Why are you only mildly injured, while Courtney had to be hospitalized? Why are nineteen people (and counting) dead, including a ten-year-old boy and a 14 months old baby? Why didn't you stay to help? And why doesn't anyone know what exactly caused this horrible accident to happen?

Speculations run wild. Was it the driver's fault? Was he drunk? Did he ignore any signals or warning signs? Did he hit something or someone, unable to brake in time? His entire service record is already being perused and discussed by the so-called experts; the train company so far standing behind their driver and reluctant to condemn the comatose man for faults not in evidence.

And if it wasn't his fault, what could then be the cause? Was there any technical failure? Something in the older equipment that gave out? A mechanic sleeping on the job or failing under pressure? A direct result of the train company cutting costs and therefor risking the safety of the passengers? Should heads start to roll? How about those suing for damages?

Even the option of a terrorist attack is mentioned, though so far nobody has put in any claims…

As the commentators drone on, the features again take you to the scene of the accident. You feel yourself start to tremble, whether from shock or because you're still only 'dressed' in a towel, you can't say, but you suspect it's a bit of both.

Chris immediately takes charge and turns off the TV.

"That's it. We've seen plenty for today. No more upsetting yourself. And let's get you into something more comfortable than just a towel."

Too drained to object, you let him fuss around, taking some soft yoga pants and a t-shirt out of your go-bag, along with some clean underwear and a pair of socks.

Okay…this is going to be interesting. How are you…

"Merri, let me help you."

He takes the panties (thank God Loretta picked some generic, anything but sexy, black boy-cut shorts) and holds them out, so all you have to do is step into them, wobbling a little and holding on to his shoulder because of your stiff, bruised knee. Averting his eyes, he quickly yanks them up, his big warm hands briefly grazing the soft bare skin of your bottom. You swallow convulsively and avert your gaze as well, heat rising again and tainting your cheeks.

This means nothing. This is no groping, nothing remotely sensual. You need his help and he's giving it. Like a partner. Nothing else.

It doesn't help much.

Panties on, he helps you step into the yoga pants and shimmies them up too, tying the strings in front of them. He then grabs your bra and, turning your back to him, you drop the towel and put your arms through the holes, allowing him to fasten the clasps on your back. You hear him chuckle softly.

"What's so funny LaSalle?"

"Just figured that this was the first time I put a girl's bra back on, instead of just off."

"Must be a whole new experience for you. I mean, dressing a woman without…"

Why? Why did you have to go there? Out loud too? What's wrong with you?

"Without the sex before, you mean? Well, I did offer and it's not too late…"

His hands still their movements, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave it off.

"Just help me get dressed, LaSalle."

Chuckling again, he mumbles something sounding suspiciously like 'don't know what you're missing', but at least obediently fastens the clasps and pulls the shirt over your head. His hands rest on your waist again and, just like the night before, he brushes his warm lips over the nape of your neck.

"There you go. All decent."

You turn around, looking into his deep, warm blue eyes.

"Thanks Chris. For everything."

"Anytime, sweet Merri."

Suddenly a little shy, a pink hue tainting his ears, he picks up the thermos.

"There's still some coffee left. Want a refill?"

You don't really feel like it, but you hope that sitting down for a drink will be mundane enough to subdue (or drown) the critters doing the boogie-woogie in your stomach, so you nod and accept another full cup of the hot liquid.

Silence settles down over the two of you, but it's not an awkward one and for that, you are extremely grateful. Chris is toying with his phone, seemingly satisfied with what he's found. Just when you want to ask him what he's looking for, he breaks the silence.

"Found us a small shopping mall nearby. It should have everything we need for a few days stay here. Wanna go check it out?"

Not overly enthusiastic, you nod, thinking of all the pretty shirts and the cute new dress you bought while shopping with Courtney, wondering if you'll ever see any of your luggage back at all. Yet, after he's taken his last sip of coffee, you allow him to help you up and into the jacket Loretta thoughtfully packed as well, grabbing your purse on the way out.

"Come on, pretty woman. This'll be fun. You get to be the Julia Roberts to my Richard Gere."

You raise you eyebrows in skepticism and mock insult.

"Saying I'm a hooker now?" After all, Julia did play one in that movie.

He unabashedly gives you a thorough once-over, then shakes his head.

"I'd hire you over Julia Roberts any day. She's got nothing on you."

Well, that's sweet. Kind of.

"Thanks, Chris."

"You not gonna return the sentiment?"

Pacifying him, you add.

"Richard Gere can't hold a candle to you, very Special Agent LaSalle."

"Why thank you, Lovely Agent Brody."

He gallantly offers you his arm and linked like that, you leave the room to go and explore the mall of Jackson, Mississippi.

 **Next up** : Shopping and a hospital visit. How's Courtney doing?

 _Thanks again for reading. Reviews are always welcome._


	4. Chapter 4

**Collision part 4**

 **AN** : So sorry I haven't updated in a while. So much going on in real life. But, as a treat for those still interested, here's an extra-long chapter. Hope it's satisfying.

 **Disclaimer** : Not mine; well, the majority is not mine.

 _Chris_

She seems to be perking up a little and you're glad of it. You watch her from a small distance as she peruses a rack of colorful shirts, seemingly relaxed and unharmed, except for the cast on her wrist and her hardly detectable limp.

You were quite worried about her this morning, when she came out of the shower, all earlier fun and flirting forgotten the moment she insisted on watching the news features of the train accident. You're still mad at yourself for switching on the damn TV to watch the news anyway. Couldn't you have settled for some innocent cartoons instead?

Luckily, she was then quite quickly distracted by the hassle of getting dressed, even going as far as picking up the flirting again. If anything, it got you over the initial awkwardness of having to touch her in quite intimate places, places you never thought you would feel underneath your fingertips.

Which took its toll on you. You hope she didn't notice you were getting a bit (a bit more than a bit, to be honest) aroused by the brush of her soft skin against your fingers. Merri is, after all, indeed a pretty woman and you can't (and never bothered to) deny you're attracted to her.

But you're just partners, remember? You've gone over this in your mind a hundred times before already and nothing has changed, nothing at all. So it's your job to help her get through the bad and ugly times. A little flirting is okay to relieve the tension, but that's all there is to it. Sad as it may be, you've got to keep your libido under control. Perhaps, when you get back to New Orleans, you can break the promise you made to your mentor just once and find another woman who's willing to let you unhook her bra. It won't be what you're looking for, but it'll just have to do.

"Chris, you like this one?"

Shaken out of your reverie, you look up to see Merri hold up a red shirt. It's pretty generic in your inexperienced eyes, but red is a good color on her, which you're quick to tell her.

She nods her consent at your statement, a cute blush spreading on her cheeks at the compliment behind it. Taking the shirt from the rack and placing it on top of the stack of plain panties, sports bras (which she sadly didn't ask your opinion on) and socks she has already gathered, she walks to another rack where hundreds of pairs of jeans are piled on top of each other. Apparently, she knows both the brand she needs as well as the right size and extracts a pair of dark blue jeans from the precariously tilting stacks, a little clumsily because of her injured hand, cursing as they fall over.

A young store clerk scoots over, picking up the fallen items from the floor and cursing under her breath, but still audible, at the clumsiness of the customer, but you shoot the young upstart a look so foul, she hastily puts the jeans back on the pile and retreats, causing Merri to grin this time, shaking her head.

"Stop scaring the personnel away, Chris. The poor kid did nothing wrong."

You huff, still thinking you were well within your rights.

"She can see you're wearing a cast. No need to be nasty because you're not your elegant self."

This causes a serious laughing fit for your partner.

"Elegant? Me? Have we met before?"

Yeah, you have. Up close and personal, literally. Closer at least than what the doctor recommended was conducive to your mental health. Quickly, crack a joke, no matter how lame it is!

"Can't take a compliment, Brody?"

"Can't come up with a better one, LaSalle?"

Ooh, a challenge! You like!

"Oh, now it's on!" (Like Donkey Kong!)

A wide grin plastered on your face, you start spouting off a series of the most idiot compliments you can think of, causing her to double over in laughter by the time you reach the cash register, where you lay off for a moment to swap her own credit card for the company card Pride made you take. For a moment, it looks like she wants to protest again, but in the end, seems to think better of it and obediently puts her own wallet away.

The bill is hardly cringe-worthy and you don't expect Pride will think differently. Merri is nothing if not modest. As it is, you see her glance over at the nice looking display of jewelry. Grabbing a set of a pretty red necklace and earrings, you wordlessly add them to the pile, pretending not to hear her objections. She deserves a little treat, even if you were the one who once said out loud you really don't get it when women use lots of bling to decorate themselves like a Christmas tree.

At least Merri keeps her accessories to a minimum, if only out of practicality. Doesn't mean the heart-shaped red pendant and the matching studs you chose won't become her. Meanwhile, you refuse to acknowledge that your choice in treat could be interpreted as something more than what it is: a simple gift. They're trinkets, not serious rocks, shape notwithstanding.

You take the bag with all your purchases from the saleslady (the young girl from before scowling at you in the background, still busy refolding the stack of jeans) and, giving her your sweetest smile, leave the store, Merri catching up with you.

The silence is about to become somewhat unsettling, until in some unspoken agreement, both your stomachs start growling in unison, causing you to suppress a laugh.

"Guess it's lunchtime, huh?"

She smiles at the mention of lunch.

"Yeah. Let's find a place to eat."

"Anything you fancy?"

"Nothing special, really."

You find a nice looking diner, decked out in fifties style and promising old-fashioned quality burgers and fries. It's just the right kind of tacky and you sit down in secluded faux red leather booth. Merri points out the jukebox in the corner and digging out some coins, you saunter over and select a few classics.

Once you're seated again, an appropriately attired waitress on roller skates comes over to take your order and soon enough, you're enjoying what are indeed really good burgers, fries and huge milkshakes, chocolate for Merri and strawberry for you.

In between two bites, Merri's expression once again turns serious.

"God, Chris, I know I've said it before, but I really don't know how to thank you properly for all you've done for me so far."

Well, your traitorous body can come up (literally) with a suggestion, but no…not the time and place.

"You don't need to keep thanking me, Merri. I hate what happened to you, but being here with you now, it's not a punishment. It's what partners and friends do. And we are friends, Merri, even if I haven't really been very good at showing it after Savannah passed."

"I never blamed you for that. Different people look for different ways to grieve and even though I had hoped you would come to me, I understood you needed the…eh…distraction. The anonymity of other women."

Yeah…that had turned out just grant.

"I honestly didn't know what I needed, or how to feel. And I still don't."

You take a quick sip of your melting shake, not knowing if what you so suddenly and desperately want to confess is such a good idea, especially since Merri has enough on her mind as it is. But she doesn't seem to be put off. Instead, she's leaning in slightly, offering her ear as well as her silent support. Your mind made up, you put down the now empty glass and start to explain what has confused you so much it took a herd of women to try (unsuccessfully) and escape from.

"Things happened so fast with me and Savannah. One moment, Cade reintroduced me to her, the girl of my childhood dreams and the next it seems like I felt compelled to ask her out and all too soon I had emptied out a drawer for her and basically asking her to move in with me. But all this time…"

"What is it, Chris?"

"I cared for her, Merri, believe me, I did, but I feel like I was trying to live in a world I'd left behind in Bama long time ago. Like I was this awkward teenager again, in love with the prettiest girl in High School. But that Chris LaSalle left his home behind for a reason and what in my teenage years was the best future picture I could have painted, was just not fitting the frame anymore. I changed, my dreams and goals changed and here I was trying to squeeze it all together, telling myself it would all work out, that the doubts I had were merely cold feet."

Looking at your patient partner and still not finding any judgment in her eyes, you soldier on.

"The moment she accepted my offer, I regretted making it. Not because I wasn't willing to make the effort of letting her move in with me, but because I knew, deep down, that she and I were no longer supposed to be the dream couple I had made us out to be when we were younger…does that make any sense?"

You're not quite sure what you want Merri to say, you just hope she's not too put off by the confession you made just now, one that has been bothering you for quite some time and one you were trying to forget, the slew of women not only a distraction, but some kind of verification that Christopher LaSalle was indeed better of as a man unbound. Or maybe not unbound, but at least not bound to the wrong person.

Much to your relief, Merri nods in understanding.

"I guess something similar happened to Courtney and Adrian. In the end, they simply weren't those same high school sweethearts anymore. Their hopes and dreams had shifted in opposite directions. And where you lost Savannah before anything could develop even further, they were headed for this inevitable, nasty divorce. At least you and Savannah never got to a point where you came to resent the other one."

"I guess a part of me is relieved that we never got that far, you know? I mean, I never wanted to lose her the way I did, not like this, not this soon, but…God, Merri, is it wrong to feel like I somehow escaped from a situation that wouldn't have made either one of us happy eventually? That now at least she passed in a state of hope? Of happiness? I have felt so damn guilty all these months thinking shit like that, but I don't know how much longer I can go on playing the part of grieving partner while all along..."

Her uninjured hand finds yours and squeezes it gently.

"Chris, look at me, please."

You look up at her and let go of your anxious breath when again, you see no judgment in her warm doe eyes.

"You ARE grieving Chris and even doubly so. You're not just mourning the violent and cruel passing of a beautiful young woman in what was supposed to be a safe place, you're also mourning the dream that got lost. It doesn't really matter that it may have been lost long before she got killed. Neither does it matter if it was never meant to be anything more than just a dream, another childhood fairytale that never could have come true. And I know very well how much it hurts. Feeling guilty doesn't help anyone or anything, least of all yourself. You got to keep on living. Forgive yourself. Move on."

Trying to hide the fact you've been brought to tears by her support and understanding, you smile and remove your hand from her clasp, breaking the contact in order to regain your composure. When the waitress comes gliding over to ask you if you want anything more, you are glad of the sudden distraction. Glancing at your partner, you notice she too has put back her mask of neutral friendliness and for a moment, you wonder if she really was as affected by your confession as you thought she was. Shaking these thoughts off roughly, you ask for the bill and, after royally tipping the kind young woman, help Merri in her jacket.

The mood has shifted though and so has the weather. A dreary rain is falling and you're glad to reach the sanctity of your truck, cranking the heat up to ease the shivering of the woman sitting in the passenger's seat.

"Whereto, Miss Brody?"

"Home, I guess…eh, hotel I mean."

Without voicing any objections, you pull into traffic and set course to the hotel, trying to ignore the eerie silence which has settled between you.

Without even one ounce of success.

** CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM **

 _Merri:_

So Chris hadn't been head over heels in love with his High School sweetheart. He had merely been pretending to love her (romantically, that is), because for some reason, he got tangled up in the fairytale. It's a sad fact and you should feel sorry for him. Which you do, at least somewhat.

But there's another feeling, deep in your heart, trying to worm itself from the backburner you put it on, to the front of your mind. It's a fight you're afraid you're quickly losing, but at the same time must keep up with for as long as you can.

Relief.

Why is it that a normally benign emotion is so putrid in this case? Because you're not supposed to feel it at all in the first place, Merri, that's why. One is not supposed to feel relieved that their partner, who has lost someone important, is not grieving as much as he thinks he should, because he didn't love her as much as he thinks he should have.

And yet…if his heart isn't filled with sadness and lingering love for his lost girlfriend, it means his heart could be ready to be filled again with love for someone else…

Someone like you…

It's a snake pit, this jumble of thoughts of yours and the possibility of this daydream to come true is close to none, regardless of your flirting. It's more likely it'll come back and bite you in the ass, painfully. And since you can't take the risk of losing him altogether by staking a claim which isn't yours to claim to begin with, you must keep these feelings under control, fight them until your very last breath.

Support and friendship will have to be enough. Anything else will destroy the easygoing friendship you've so successfully built. Which is the last thing you would ever want.

But yet…

Sleeping in his arms had felt so good and so had his gentle flirting. He's been a true gentleman all this time, but instead of calming you down, it only caused your traitorous, rebellious heart to go haywire, imagining what else his strong but tender hands were capable of.

Now, combined with this new information, you feel like you're sitting on a time bomb, about ready to explode at any moment, leaving nothing but debris behind. And with God knows how many more nights with him in the same hotel room…

You can only hope Courtney gets better soon. Real soon.

You don't want to do something you'll surely end up regretting.

"Merri, we're here."

You look outside and sure enough, you've arrived back at the hotel. Chris, still the well-mannered man he always is, pulls up in front of the canopied entrance.

"You go ahead inside and I'll go park the car. No need for both of us to get wet."

Giving him a grateful look for his consideration (not that you should be surprised), you scoot out of the car and get inside, hardly catching any drops in the two steps between the car and the canopy. Chris pulls out, while you make your way to your room.

It's been tidied up since you left and you drop your purchases on the chair before you plop yourself down on what was your bed for all of two hours last night, promising yourself that this night, you'll sleep here. Period.

Chris comes in five minutes later, soaked from his mad dash over the wide expanse of the parking lot to the back entrance. Feeling sorry for him, you leap up and go to the bathroom to pick up some clean towels.

"Thanks, Merri."

He vigorously rubs his short hair dry and hangs his dripping leather jacket over the back of the chair, careful not to get your new clothes wet. His phone buzzes in his jeans pocket and he manages to pry it from its confinements before it stops.

"King," he tells you before answering.

A series of sure and fine and okays later, he hands you the device.

"He wants to talk to you."

"Hi, Pride."

"Hey Merri, how are you feeling?"

"A bit better I suppose. I got some painkillers for my arm and my headache, but I'm still worried about my cousin though."

"That's understandable. I want you to stay there for as long as you need, both of you."

"Pride, don't you need us back there? Or at least Chris?"

"I already discussed things with him and I want him to stay with you until you can both come home. No ands, ifs or buts, you hear me? Same goes for using the company credit card for your needs."

"Pride, I…we…can't…"

"Didn't I just say that yes, you can? Do I need to make this a direct order, Agent Brody?"

Smiling despite of yourself and grateful for his concern, you thank your boss.

"No, you don't. Thank you, for everything you're doing for me. Not just practically, but…well, you know."

"I do know, Merri. You're family. And this is what we do for each other. Could you please put Chris back on?"

You hand your partner his phone back and again, all you hear is a string of confirmations, before he disconnects and puts the phone down on his bedside table, plopping down on his own bed.

It's silent for a moment, before he asks: "Why did you ask King if he needs me back?"

"Because as long as you're here with me, it's just him and Sonja."

He shrugs.

"It's been him and me for quite some time. We managed. He'll manage for a week or so without us, I'm sure. I just thought…"

He hesitates for a moment, swallowing convulsively, then decides to just jump in.

"Thought you wanted to get rid of me. That I make you feel awkward and uncomfortable."

"Chris no, I'm very grateful you're here. You're such a good friend."

He shrugs, his face a picture of sad acceptance.

"Yeah, a friend, that's me…Merri…maybe I should get a separate room."

"Why?"

Okay, so that's not what you wanted to say out loud, since it would actually be a lot wiser for him to stay in his own room, but it's what came out and now you can't take it back.

"Because, well…"

Oh dear God, there's that sweet blush again.

"It's confusing, Merri. I got the feeling we're wading through quicksand and I don't want either one of us to do anything we might regret later on."

You don't need him to spell out what he means by that, so you nod, reluctantly. At your silent confirmation, he picks up the phone and calls the reception. Ten minutes later, he hangs up with a silent 'thank you'.

"We're in luck, Merri. The room next door is available, so I can check in my stuff right away. I'll still be very close should you need me but, well…it's better, right?"

"Right."

What else can you say, really? Chris rubs the back of his neck in his signature nervous gesture and smiles a little sheepishly. Then, without glancing in your direction, he packs up his go-bag, stuffs his clothes and toiletries in and stalks over to the door. With the doorknob in his hand, he half-turns to you, still avoiding eye-contact.

"Right, so I eh…I'm gonna go get my keycard from the lobby and move my stuff in okay? Maybe you can get some rest, and then we can grab some dinner and swing by the hospital to check on your cousin."

"Yeah, sure."

"I'll knock on your door at six."

"Okay."

"Okay."

The door closes behind him and you let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress, willing the tears away.

To no avail.

** CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM **

 _Chris:_

This is not what you wanted to happen, you think as you pick up your keycard and try to smile at the lady behind the desk as she processes your credit card. This extra room is not going on the company card; you don't want to have to explain to King why you're not mature enough to spend a few nights with a female partner without acting like a rabid dog.

What King doesn't know won't kill him.

This may only kill you.

Okay, so you're being overly dramatic, but Dear Lord, this was never meant to happen. Why, why couldn't you have kept your mouth shut about Savannah? Why did you feel you should open that Pandora's Box? What good would it do, to burden Merri with a confession like that?

And damn her, by the way! Damn her for being all kinds of sweet and understanding. Jeez, why couldn't she be disgusted with you, like you are with yourself, really? It would most likely have had the same effect (you getting another room, that is), but at least you wouldn't feel so damn conflicted about it!

Getting all your stuff back from the receptionist, you thank her again and pick up your bag, taking the elevator up and opening the door of your new temporary residence, while trying to hear if there is any movement, any sound coming from Merri's room.

It's deadly silent in there and you hope it's because she's resting.

Not that she would have moved out or anything (she wouldn't have gotten very far without you knowing it anyway), but well…she's just constantly on your mind. Which isn't all that surprising considering the situation, but it's more the direction your thoughts can take when you're too weary to reel them back in that worries you.

It was actually the very first inkling of doubt about you loving Savannah enough, when, straight through your relationship with her, you found yourself checking out your partner, feeling some sort of attraction to her. Not just to her physical attributes, but to her personality as well. You simply liked her. A lot. A whole lot.

Which was a whole lot too much for a man who was supposed to be in a committed relationship.

Then, when Savannah died, the guilt was choking you. All of your friends, King and Merri included, attributed said guilt to you not being home on time to prevent her murder from happening and sure, you did feel the guilt for that. But it was nothing compared to the damning feeling of knowing the two of you were no longer meant to be, because you felt more comfortable, more alive with someone else.

Perhaps it was a good thing Savannah never found out, but that shouldn't mean that you can behave the way you've been behaving with Merri, because you're freed of your commitment. Even her memory deserves better from you.

And so does Merri. Your little confession put part of the guilt squarely on her shoulders and where shared misery is supposed to make it easier, you've only heaved another kind of guilt on your tired, sagging shoulders.

How is she supposed to feel now? How conflicted did you make her feel?

God, it's enough to give you a headache, so you may as well take your own advice and lie down for a while, before you're going to have to act all normal when you take Merri out for dinner and a visit to her cousin.

You try to concentrate on a copy of the local newspaper you picked up from the hotel counter, but since it's still full of the train accident, it doesn't help you much to relax. You decide to take the warm shower you wanted to take earlier today (no, you're not thinking of what it would be like to share said shower with your partner). It relaxes you a little and by the time you're dressed again, it's time to get Merri.

It takes some time for her to answer to your knocking and you can't help but bite back a laugh when you see why; she's halfway into putting her new shirt on and apparently got her injured hand stuck. Which also explains the expletives clearly audible from behind her closed door.

"Come here."

Forgetting the awkwardness between you for a moment, you maneuver her arms into the designated holes and smooth the shirt over. She gives you a nod and a smile and points to some items spread out on her bed: the earrings and necklace you got her as a gift.

You sigh, a little overdramatically. The necklace isn't much of a problem, though the clasp is rather small for your hands. But does she really expect you to put the studs in her ears? Seeing your hopeless expression, she laughs and takes mercy, foregoing on the studs.

"Ready for dinner, Merri?"

"Yeah, I could eat something."

Not feeling up to go anywhere fancy, you make your way to the hotel restaurant. It's not too posh and the food is excellent, though you haven't given too much thought to what you ordered. Merri is quite silent, though you're somewhat optimistic about her mood and your friendship now that she has changed into her new shirt and is wearing the necklace.

You do notice however, that she's not eating much.

"You okay, Merri?"

"Yeah…just a little worried about Courtney. She looked so fragile in that big hospital bed yesterday, hooked up on all kinds of machines."

"It's creepy I know, but I think someone would have warned us by now if something bad had happened to her."

"I know. I just need to see for myself, I guess."

"We'll go as soon as we've finished eating, okay? But you should at least actually eat something first. Your body needs the energy to heal properly."

Obediently, she takes a bite of her fish, which she has chosen because it cuts easily. And she accepts the chocolate mousse you ordered for dessert without a problem too.

The drive to the hospital is mostly silent, but you don't attribute it to anything but Merri's nerves at the prospect of seeing her injured cousin. At the hospital, you have a quick chat about her condition with the doctor first. He informs you both that Courtney has woken up and seems to be doing well, except for a headache. Also, she has no recollection of the accident; all she remembers is getting on the train with her cousin. After that, she draws a blank. He goes on to explain that this memory loss is most likely temporary and that it's probably caused by a combination of the concussion and the emotional trauma of being in a major accident. It may gradually return in a few days' time, but he's not too worried if it doesn't. Since Courtney's long term memory is intact and she shows no other signs indicative to any major brain damage, he's quite optimistic she'll make a full recovery, though it may take some time.

After that, you're allowed to see her. You stop at the door, allowing Merri the privacy she might need to talk to her cousin. She hesitates for a moment, her hand on the doorknob.

"Go ahead, Merri. You heard the doctor; she'll be okay. And I'll be right here if you need me. I'll just get some coffee, okay?"

She nods and goes in, giving you a small, wan smile.

You find a coffee machine and take your brown sludge back to the hallway, leaning against the wall and pacing a little, until you hear the door open and Merri pokes her head out.

"Courtney is awake and she wants to meet you."

You smile, wondering what Merri's been telling her about you.

"Okay."

You enter the room to see a woman who surely has a lot of features in common with your partner, except for the fact her hair is longer and lighter. She greets you with a smile, indicating she can't extend her hands, as one is taped in and the other one is attached to an unyielding IV.

"So you're the infamous Christopher LaSalle. Heard a lot about you."

Infamous huh? Merri, Merri, what have you been telling her?

"Yes, ma'am, that's me. And hopefully Merri's been kind about me."

"She has, don't worry. Thank you for coming over to help her, well, us. I heard you've been talking to my ex-husband?"

"Yes I have. Told him what happened to you and to inform your son."

She nods. "Have you heard back from Mark yet?"

"So far no. But it's still early days."

"Well, you could always call him yourself now that you're awake."

"Maybe. But something tells me he doesn't know yet. Maybe one of you should get in touch with the summer camp leaders. It's his teacher Miss Vanderbilt. Her number's in my phone. I don't think I could handle a phone call yet. Would you mind?"

"Of course not," Merri is quick to say.

You stay for a few moments longer, but your visit is clearly already taking its toll from the injured woman (both of them actually) and with the promise to come back the day after, with news from her son, you leave Courtney to her much needed rest.

You're not surprised when Merri falls asleep during the drive back home. It's been an emotionally draining day for her. She wakes up just as you kill the engine in the parking lot of the hotel. Wordlessly, you help her to her room and into the t-shirt (yours) she's still wearing as a nightgown since neither one of you remembered to buy her some pajamas.

She's back asleep before her head hits the pillow and with a whispered 'sleep tight', you leave to go to your own room, where you're not quite as lucky as she is and don't sleep a wink, already missing the weight of her slumbering body against your own.

Maybe this separate room wasn't such a good idea after all…or maybe it really is.

TBC...

 _Well, hopefully that was worth the wait. Reviews, as always, much appreciated._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Happy New Year everyone! So sorry I haven't been able to update this story before the holidays, but life got in the way, as usual. But now, with one heck of a busy, confusing, hectic year behind me, I think I can relax enough to get back to my writing.

So here's the result. I hope you enjoy!

 **Disclaimer** : They were on my Christmas wish list. They were not underneath the tree, though…so, regretfully, Chris, Merri and the rest of the cast of NCIS: NOLA are not mine.

 _Oh well, on with the story…_

It's not getting any better. Two more days have passed and, as dictated by Murphy's Law, everything that can go wrong, is going wrong.

First of all, you find out from Miss Vanderbilt that she hasn't heard from Mark's father at all. Next, it takes all of your power of persuasion to talk your cousin's child out of taking the next plane, train, bus or whatever out there to come over here to visit his mom, reminding him he's still a minor and at the moment under his father's custody, whether he likes it or not. Instead, you promise to call him every day with an update until his mom can make her own calls again.

You allow Chris to contact Adrian again, since you have no idea what will come out of your mouth when you hear his voice. Chris however, stays eerily polite when he tells the other man to stop interfering with his son's rights to know about his mother's wellbeing. There's not much Chris can legally do to change this man's mind for him, but you're sure he could think of something…

Next thing to go wrong for you is your arm. In a clumsy attempt to dress yourself without help from your partner, you've managed to stumble and hit your already broken arm against the wall. Result: the barely healing fracture has shifted and the bone has to be reset again; a painful process you would gladly have gone without.

At least Chris has decided to cancel his own room and has moved himself back into yours again. You somehow (though barely) manage to put on and keep on a brave face, until one more phone call with bad news comes in: Miss Vanderbilt kindly lets you know that Mark has gone missing from his camp and has presumably decided to try and get to his mother. Adrian has been notified and an Amber alert has been put out, but just in case he actually makes it to Jackson, you're warned.

Next thing you know, Adrian is threatening to press charges against you for endangering the welfare of his son, claiming you set him up against his own father and encouraged him to do this.

It's the straw that breaks the camel's back. You let Chris handle the call, not hearing a word of what he says to the enraged ex-husband of your cousin. Have you actually once liked the guy? When he ends the call, he sees the tears gathering in your eyes and pulls you against his chest.

"Come here, sweet Merri. Let it all out."

The feeling of safety and warmth he's offering is so welcome, you gratefully accept his offer and allow yourself to fall apart in his arms. He soothes you with soft strokes and sweet words, until you're completely drained. You sag against him as he sits the both of you down on his bed. Regaining some of your composure, you lift you head to look at him, almost drowning in the depths of his blue eyes.

"Thanks Chris."

"Anytime, my sweet Merri."

You vigorously wipe away some tear streaks from your cheeks.

"God, I must look a fright."

His hand encloses yours and the look in his eyes intensifies.

"You look absolutely gorgeous to me."

This time, there's no mistaken the fact he's leaning into you. This time, there's no escape from his mouth, nor is there the will to do so. When his sweet lips capture yours in the softest, most tender kiss you've ever participated in, all pretense is soon gone.

There's no conscious choice you've made, no decision process you're going through. It's in equal parts trance and clear as day reality that you undress in between increasingly hungry kisses and caresses, before falling back on the bed.

During your lovemaking, Chris tries to slow you down several times, but you can't, too afraid this is merely a dream and the bubble will burst, too afraid it's not and you'll be forced to burst it yourself. Because as much as you need it, want it, crave for it, you're no idiot.

This isn't the start of an epic love story.

This is you, taking what you need from the most selfless man you've ever known, who's offering himself to you, despite of his own emotional battles. You don't expect any promises, any words of love and eternal devotion from him, nothing that stretches beyond this moment. You probably wouldn't believe him if he would give them anyway. So why make him take them back?

This moment is yours though. His lips, his hands, his sweet words whispered in your ears…it's a bittersweet gift and you know that, despite of your best intentions, you'll have second thoughts about it once the dream collapses, as it is bound to do. But you make yourself push them far, far away and let the pleasure take over for now…

Just for now…

***CL&MB***

OK, so it's not like you didn't want to bring up what happened between the two of you (you were afraid to, but felt it was necessary nonetheless), but there simply was never a right moment. And yes, that's the truth, in case anyone was wondering.

The morning after you found her naked body still pressed intimately against your own, your few more minutes of peace were disturbed by a pounding on the door in combination with the buzzing of your phone.

Merri woke up, more from the startled way with which you sat up straight in the bed than the noise itself. Wordlessly handing her the phone to deal with, you yanked on your underwear and stumbled your way to the door to handle whatever crisis thrown at you this time.

It was the local police department, informing you that they had plucked young Mark Philips from the Greyhound bus at the station, after which they had taken him to the nearest precinct and that he was waiting for the two of you to get him out of there. It's a blessing in disguise the two officers leave right after their announcement, without asking to come in. They do not need to see your naked partner in the only bed that is used and draw their conclusions. Word spreads fast and nowhere faster than at small city precincts. There's no reason to assume things like this have no way to make it all the way South to people who do most definitely not need to know.

You thank them and promise to come pick up the boy soon, then close the door.

Merri finishes the call at the same time.

"That was Patton. He's checked Adrian's phone records. He never even tried to get in touch with his son's camp leader. Quite a dad he turns out to be. Who was at the door?"

"The Jackson police. Mark is at their precinct. They got him off the Greyhound a couple of miles outside of town and they're willing to release him into our custody. So I guess we should get dressed and go pick him up."

She nods, gripping the sheets tighter as they threaten to fall down and reveal her naked body. The one you worshipped only hours ago.

Though not surprising considering the situation, the fact she's retreating from you already, does hurt.

What exactly did this mean to her?

What did it mean to you?

Well, now is not the right time to discuss it. A twelve year old boy is waiting for you and you know Merri won't be put at ease until you get him.

Wordlessly, you dress and wordlessly, you help her dress too, ignoring the 5000 pound elephant in the room in favor of a sense of normalcy. Whatever that may be.

The drive over to the precinct is equally loaded with things left unsaid and you're secretly glad when you reach the three-story building and identify yourselves to the desk-officer, who alerts the officer in charge of Mark.

The officer leads you to a room on the first floor, where a tired, crumpled, scared yet remarkably defiant boy stands op from the couch he's been resting on. It seems like he knows these officers don't mean him any harm and that he's not in trouble with any of them, but he also seems to understand he had a lot of people worried about him and he does have some explaining to do, even if he doesn't like it.

Merri scoots past you and embraces her second cousin. He squirms a little in a typical adolescent way, but doesn't pull away.

Merri is gentle with the boy and you admire her calm assessment. He's healthy, unharmed and wants to see his mom, thinking it unfair that he wasn't informed about her accident any sooner. Since you agree (as does Merri, you presume) with that last part, you have a quick conversation with the officer in charge and are able to get the three of you out without a hitch ten minutes later, after Mark made you a promise not to ever run away on his own like that. Reasons set aside, it was a pretty dangerous thing to do.

Oh well, at least he got himself on a bus instead of hitching a ride with some unknown person who may have had less than altruistic motives.

First things first, you find a diner and get all of you a decent breakfast. Silently, the three of you wolf down a generous amount of eggs, bacon, toast, surprisingly good, strong coffee (for you and Merri) and juice. In between his vigorous chewing, Mark shows some good manners by thanking you, Merri joking that you're bested by a twelve-year old when it comes to table manners.

True, you never quite got the concept of not talking with your mouth full.

Next, you go back to the hotel and (again) book a second room. You'll figure out who'll sleep where later in the evening, but for now, the boy can take a shower so he doesn't have to look like a little hobo when he goes to visit his mother.

At the hospital, there's some more good news waiting for you: Courtney's test results revealed no lasting damage and since she has no complaints other than a lingering headache, she'll be released from the hospital the next day.

Which means that you and Merri spend the rest of the day planning the return of Merri's cousin and her son. Since Courtney is still in no condition to drive (and neither is Merri with her reset wrist in a sling), it's decided that you'll just have to pack them all up in your truck and drive them back. You'll stay the night with them and drive back to New Orleans with Merri the next day. It's still eight hours, but you've had worse car rides.

Once everyone agrees to the plans, you take Mark back to the hotel, have some dinner and go to sleep early, you sharing the room with the teenager since it's the least awkward division at the moment.

Sleep eludes you tonight. You're not at all nervous about the long ride back up North. With Courtney and her son in the car with you, there won't be any chance to catch Merri alone and get the awkward conversation you need to have out of the way. But then there's the long way back. Will it be eight hours of silence, eight hours of talking about anything but what happened or will you be able to discuss it as adults?

But what is there to discuss, really? You're two consenting adults taking comfort from each other and there is nothing wrong with that. Besides, you're partners and you'll get over it, really, you will.

Yeah…but…do you really want to get over it? If you dare to be perfectly honest with yourself, do you want this…whatever it is, to end just like that? Because it felt good last night. Not just the sex by itself (though that was spectacular), but just holding her. Being near a warm, kind-hearted human being again. Someone you admire and trust.

Someone you love.

And there you have it.

No, damn it, you do most definitely not want it to end here, would do everything to try and convince Merri that the two of you could make it work, a true relationship, if only she's willing to give it, give you a chance. It's a complete 180 degree change of mind from where you were a few nights ago, but you figure Merri was right: it's time to move on from the guilt and start loving again, instead of pushing those who care for you away.

It never worked to begin with, did it?

So now it all depends on Merri admitting she feels something for you too.

Yet, deep down, while you're being honest, you know she won't. Much as she may appreciate you, much as she genuinely likes hanging around with you after work, as friends, you're not delusional enough to believe she'll want to take a chance on you as being anything more. Her heart is so guarded, so fragile; she won't dare to take the risk.

So maybe it's for the best to let whatever happened in Jackson, Mississippi, stay in Jackson, Mississippi. You'll get over the hurt. Eventually.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Finally, after a few hours of fitful sleep, you all get up, dressed (Merri seems to have managed without your help) and packed and ready to pick up first Courtney and then, much to your surprise, the ladies' lost luggage, which has been taken from the wreckage and has finally all been sorted out and can be claimed at the train station's depot.

Two hours later, everyone and everything is stuffed in your truck and you're on your way. The mood is quite relaxed, with Courtney and her son sitting in the backseat, the first one snoozing and the last one playing some game on his phone. You and Merri chat about, well, whatever, ignoring the current of something that has to be kept hidden. For now, that's the way it has to be if you don't want to disturb the relative peace.

After a lunchbreak near Memphis, you arrive at your destination early evening, where you help an exhausted Courtney unpack her belongings and order in a pizza, which is devoured by the four of you. Courtney then makes a few phone calls to friends and neighbors to let them know what happened and that she's back and all offer their help and support. You're glad Courtney is well-liked in the community she lives in and that she'll be well taken care of when you have to leave.

Mark shows Merri to the guest room she has used during her visit and hands you a blanket and pillow to make your bed on the couch, apologizing for the inconvenience.

"That's okay, I've slept in worse places. I'll survive."

And you will, if only because you don't think you could have slept any better in a queen sized waterbed. Well, maybe if Merri was in there with you…

Great, now you're all worked up with no place to go. Just great, LaSalle.

Idiot.

***CL&MB***

As soon as she's sure Mark is sleeping, Courtney slips into your room. Worried, you sit up straight, but she calms you down with a smile.

"It's okay, I'm fine. I just can't sleep. Haven't been doing much else in the hospital. So perhaps we can talk? Unless you're too tired, then I could just…"

"No, no, that's okay."

You pat the bed and you cousin plops down, just like the old days (or last week, to be more precise).

"So…" she starts.

"So…"

"Christopher LaSalle…"

"Oh please don't start!"

"Why not? You hardly shut up about him last week and let me tell you, now I know why. The man is all kinds of adorable. Kind, well-mannered, attentive, easy on the eyes…"

"…and nothing but my partner."

Courtney raises one eyebrow in skepticism and you've never been angrier at her ability to rebuke you with just one facial expression than you are now.

Damn her for knowing you so well.

"Come on Merri, who are you trying to convince here? The tension in the car was so thick you needed night vision goggles to see. What's really going on between the two of you?"

"Would it help me any if I said it was none of your business?"

"Did that ever help you before?"

Sigh.

"Oh, I don't know."

She shakes her head.

"Nope. Not buying it. Try again."

"You're not gonna drop this, are you?"

"Not a chance."

"I'll give you fifty dollars?"

"Seriously, Merri? Bribery? That's your option?"

"But I don't wanna talk about him!"

Taking pity on you for a moment, Courtney puts her hand on yours.

"Merri, something's going on between you and it's eating you alive, I can tell. Now, spill. It'll make you feel better."

You sigh in defeat, knowing she won't stop badgering you until she knows the truth. And maybe she's right. Maybe it'll be cathartic. So here goes.

"I may have kindasleptwithhim."

"Eh, what?"

Alright, alright!

"I said I slept with him!"

"Ha! I knew it! How was it?"

"Courtney!"

"Oh come on, let a poor divorcé enjoy a bit of romance by proxy. How was it?"

Unbidden, the memories assault you, clear as if he was still with you. His scent, his softly spoken endearments, his caresses…how he made you see a whole new constellation, three times over. How he pulled your sweat-soaked body close to his own in the aftermath…it was…

"Amazing."

She claps her hands in excitement, much like she did when you shared these kind of stories in your dorm room when the three of you were in college and hooking up with the cream of the crop of the male student body. Literally.

Oh those good old days…when things were easy and your biggest scare was when you thought the condom might have broken.

"I knew it would be."

"Well, kudos for you. Now could you stop gloating? It's not something to be glad about, okay? It ruined everything!"

You start crying from frustration, finally admitting, if only to yourself and Courtney, how scared you are of the future with Chris, professionally as well as personally.

So you start telling the entire story. The stress of the accident and dealing with the aftermath. The initial fear of losing your cousin. Your own pain and awkwardness surrounding your injury. The whole affair with Adrian and Mark.

And how, all this time, Chris was there. To help, to listen, to joke, to make your whole life a bit (a lot) easier. His confession about Savannah you keep to yourself as Chris trusted you to keep his secret. But you do reveal how the boundaries slowly shifted, before disappearing altogether.

The night was magical. Chris is, without a doubt, the sweetest, most attentive lover you've ever had, but you knew, right before you drifted off in his arms, that this was all you were ever entitled to.

When you relay this sad conclusion to Courtney though, she vehemently shakes her head (wincing since the gesture makes her feel woozy).

"I'll be honest with you, Merri, but I think you're making a huge mistake."

"I did make one."

"No, not then, but now. For your future."

You smile ruefully.

"Is there something you know that I don't?"

"Other than the fact he's madly in love with you?"

"Come off it, Courtney. He's not. He's sweet and kind, but just my partner. And besides, even if he was in love, which he's NOT, we can't have a relationship. It's against regulations."

"I can't believe there's no way to work around those if you really want to."

You sigh, your head spinning with hope, possibilities, rejection and missed chances. The part of you that desperately wants to agree with your cousin, claws at you heart, but you can't afford to feed it. It'll starve soon enough. No need to give it any hope when there really is none.

"Courtney, I think we should both get some sleep, okay? I just…please…I can't talk about it."

Taking pity on your morose face, she nods and leaves you alone. Sleep however, is not to be had tonight. And you're afraid it'll only be the first of many sleepless nights to come…


	6. Chapter 6

**AN** : Don't you just hate it when you have to abandon your writing for so long, just because life interferes? Yeah, me too. And I'm so sorry. I hope this installment makes up for the long wait.

 **Disclaimer** : Sadly, life's interference did not include the ownership of NCIS: NOLA or its characters.

 _Oh well, here we go…_

Three weeks later:

She's avoiding you. Ever since your indeed silent and quite uncomfortable drive back from her cousin's place, she's been actively sabotaging every opportunity you've been trying to take to talk to her or even be alone with her. Since her broken wrist has her confined to desk duty, she's not there on crime scenes, but she'll make her escape into another room as soon as she can, when you make it into the office. Her excuses all seem legit enough to King, but you know better.

She also keeps declining most invitations to hang out after work, either with you or the entire group. Only when King insists, does she reluctantly stay, but even then she makes sure she's never alone with you, always talking to someone else, always prompted to leave when she sees you arrive.

Against better judgement, you keep trying. Like yesterday, when you gently set a cup of her favorite coffee with a fruit filled pastry you know she loves, on her desk. She took it with the curtest of glances and the shortest 'thanks' she could get away with.

Your own mask of indifference slipping for a moment and knowing King and Percy were out chasing a lead, you grabbed her hand as it grabbed the pastry.

"We need to talk, Merri."

"There's nothing to talk about other than the Delaney case, Chris."

"There is, you know there is. We…I…I can't go on like this."

As an afterthought: "I miss you."

She shook her head in a dismissive way and for a moment, you wanted to haul her up and either kiss her senseless or shake the stuffing out of her, whatever method worked better to make her see that this is killing you.

"There's nothing to miss. We're partners. That's all."

Ouch.

"Merri…"

"Drop it, Chris. Thanks for the pastry, but now leave me alone. I have stuff to do."

You retreated, defeated once again. It's not surprising, but that doesn't make it any less painful. Being right all along doesn't particularly make you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Still, you have to try and get your game face back on before your boss shows up again. No need to alarm him even further.

So far, you pride yourself on the fact you can still focus your attention on your job and King hasn't felt the need to get in your way (much as you care for your boss and mentor, you don't feel like having a father/son heart-to-heart about this), but the man definitely ain't crazy and one of these days he'll notice the tension between the two of you and he'll want to know what's what.

And then what will you tell him? What will Merri tell him if he gets to her first? Isn't it better to just get this over with between yourselves? It's not like you're looking forward to opening up to your mentor about this…whatever it is. But how can you avoid that when she keeps avoiding you?

Help. You need help. From someone who's on your hand and won't ask questions…someone with access to Merri, someone she trusts too. Someone to bridge the gap…

Sonja? No, too snappish. Sebastian? Too awkward. Patton? Too curious.

Aha! Loretta.

Her landlord and both your friend and hers. Why didn't you think of her sooner?

Good thing you still have some stuff to pick up at the morgue, so you jump in your car and head over there. All case-related questions asked and answered, you linger at the kind examiner's lab for longer than you're used to (it's not exactly a place one picks to socialize), causing her to look at you with an expectant smile on her face.

"Talk to me, Chris."

"What?"

"You clearly have something on your mind you need to share, so just do so. I'll listen and help if I can."

You sigh in relief.

"This'll stay between us?"

"Of course. The other people in this room aren't likely to talk."

You smile wanly at her lame joke, but you know she won't betray your trust and that you never needed to ask in the first place.

"I need to talk to Merri."

Loretta nods.

"And the reason you're talking to me instead is…?"

Oh please, Lord, let this be a good idea.

"Well…eh…stuff…eh…stuff happened…in Jackson…"

Wow, very eloquent. Helpful too.

"I'm sorry, honey, but I have no idea what you're talking about. Come with me."

She gently leads you away from the less than comfortable confinements of the morgue and, after she discards her gloves, hairnet and lab coat and throws them in the designated trash and laundry baskets, takes you outside in the balmy late afternoon New Orleans air.

"Let's go get some coffee. My treat."

You find an empty table at one of the city's many café's and place your orders. Once two steaming hot beverages are placed in front of you and you've taken your first grateful sip, you know you can't stall the conversation any longer and start telling your tale. As promised, the kind ME listens without interrupting once, her features set in a neutral expression. After you finish your, basically, sob-story, you suddenly feel exhausted and infinitely sad. Loretta, noticing this, puts her hand on yours in a comforting gesture.

"Chris, do you love her?"

There's no way you can deny it and get away with it, the ability to lie convincingly eluding you in the wake of your draining weeks, as does the reason you should still lie to begin with.

"Yes. I love Merri."

"Then I'll try to get her to talk to you. Don't expect any miracles, but I'll see what I can do for you."

"Thanks. But, Loretta…"

"Yes?"

"Do you think it's wise? For me and Merri to date, assuming she'll dare to take a chance on me, on us? We do have to work together, there are rules…"

"Love never is wise, dear boy. But you both need and deserve it and I'm sure there's a way to work around the rules. Don't let them limit you, Chris. Not when you have this much love to give."

You sigh, a little more hopeful than when you started this conversation, but not yet daring to believe you might actually…with Merri…

Loretta reassures you.

"Keep your chin up. We'll find a way. I'm sure of it."

After that, you walk back to the morgue together and step back into your truck, happier now than when you went.

At least you got an accomplice now.

You're no longer fighting alone.

***CL&MB***

To be honest, you were a little surprised when your friend and landlord asked you to come over and have dinner with her. Yes, you consider her your friend, but it's not like you spend an awful lot of time with her. But, as Loretta was quick to explain, both Danny and CJ were gone for the weekend and she didn't like to eat all by herself. So you took her invitation.

It's not like your own evenings by yourself are so much fun…

When you walk into the ME's wide open patio doors, bottle of wine in hand, a lovely smell comes from the kitchen. You feel a bit guilty; you had no idea she would go through so much trouble preparing you a meal; had kind of assumed she would have ordered a pizza or something.

But then again, that's your MO. Doesn't mean other people do the same. Loretta has a family to take care of. She's not alone.

Like you are.

It's a constant nagging pain in your gut, one you had hoped would disappear in time. Three weeks apparently is not long enough to get used to the loss of your friend, even if you instigated the loss yourself.

You know he's hurting too. Can feel his eyes on you, optimistic and perhaps even a bit hopeful at first, than losing their sparkle as the days wore on and you still didn't acknowledge him. This new, subdued version of the once exuberant agent is painful to watch, even more so because you know you created this version, you're the cause of the doused fire in his once clear gaze.

God, you miss him!

There is, of course, a solution. But you're too afraid to use it. What's the point in getting close to him again if there can never be a future between the two of you?

You've given it plenty of thought, especially on the long drive back from Jackson. Had you told him then that you love him (which you know you do) and had he told you he feels the same for you (which Courtney is convinced of), you know he would have promised to put the world at your feet. Chris LaSalle doesn't do anything halfway. So yes, he would have had no qualms about giving up his job for you.

But you would have.

Chris loves his job. He's good at it, great even. It suits him. It's in his very blood, as much as the city itself is. And you can't, you won't take it away from him.

Yes, he could probably get his old job at NOPD back; you know his former Lieutenant would love for him to join his ranks again, but still, what would that mean?

A pay cut, probably. Not that Chris would mind, he's not a very high-maintenance man, but you do mind on his behalf. A federal agent doesn't make six figures by a long shot, but Chris deserves every penny he gets and not one less.

Plus, who would watch his back? The trust between him and Pride, between him and yourself (in the field at least), even between him and Sonja these days is absolute. And reciprocated. Who'd watch his back at NOPD? Would he be able to trust his partner the same way he can trust your little family? Could you put your faith in his replacement at NCIS, without resenting him or her for taking Chris's place? His desk?

Just thinking of anyone else sitting there (no more candy-wrappers or Lego pieces strewn about, no more crumbled pieces of potato chips embedded in your laptop keyboard) makes you feel sick.

And what if he would start hating his new job? Would start to miss hanging out with you all? Not that he would no longer be welcome at Pride's bar, but still, he'd be somewhat of an outsider. Then what? He would come to resent you for it, that's what. You would have fought to keep him, only to lose him anyway.

So no, giving into your feelings for him is not an option. Best to douse it and if that won't work, just let it simmer, keep an eye on it so it won't boil over and hope and pray it'll pass. Maybe if you find someone else…

Is James still available?

And what if Chris finds someone else first?

But hey, this is supposed to be a relaxed evening between two women who happen to be friends. You owe it to your hostess to at least make an effort to make this a nice evening. Especially now she has gone through so much trouble fixing you something delicious, at least by the smell of it.

The patio doors close behind you and, slightly startled, you look around to greet…

Obviously not Loretta.

He looks good. Tired but determined. With the element of surprise, he clearly has the advantage over you.

You? You feel betrayed. By Loretta, by him and most of all by the critters in your stomach, who can't seem to decide whether they're supposed to be happy or nervous to see him.

You're actually a bit of both, yet not ready to admit it. To either yourself or him. Least of al him.

The resulting emotion is anger. You don't like being trapped and played for a fool.

"LaSalle! What the hell are you doing here? Did you set this up?"

"Merri, please, I…"

Not listening, you rant on.

"I'm gonna kill Loretta! She had no right to do this. YOU had no right, you both…I…"

You vault for the patio doors, but they are locked. He must have locked them right after you came in. Okay, front door then.

Two strong arms stop you, but, kicking and screaming, you break loose and try again, in total panic mode now. Yet, he grips you again, holding you tight until you're too tired to struggle. Then, as his scent, his warmth, his closeness for the first time in over three weeks takes over your senses, your poor abused soul gives up.

God, how you missed this. How you need this…just for a moment. You need to indulge, just for a moment.

Like a junkie getting his first shot in weeks, your traitorous body and conspiring heart curl into his warmth, breathing him in, shaking with the futile exertion of resisting him.

"Sssh, Merri, sweet Merri. Please don't be mad, don't leave, I just need to talk to you."

When he senses you've calmed down enough not to attempt another mad dash to the front door, he lets go of his grip on you. You barely suppress the shiver running through you now that your body is being deprived of its source of warmth.

"Can we talk, please?"

Well, you suppose you can, as long as he doesn't expect any fairytales. So you nod, still on guard, still checking your escape routes, not at all convinced you no longer need them.

He starts with the opening gambit you expected him to use. Yet, for all your expectations, you're horribly ill-prepared and his question hits you like a ton of bricks falling on your head.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

His tone is not accusatory, though you wish it was. Anger you can rebuke, but this…this infinite sadness, the fatigue…how does one answer to that?

"You know why."

It's a cheap shot and you know it, but perhaps it can buy you some time. For what, you have no clue. It's not like you can think properly from beneath all those bricks you're covered with.

"I can guess why, yes. But I want to hear it from you."

"Why? What's the point?"

In your own ears, you sound as exhausted as he appears to be, but he still has the upper hand, so you feel justified in our recalcitrant behavior. You were the one ambushed after all.

"The point is, we need to end this stalemate one way or another. I'm tired of walking on eggshells around you. I'm just…God, Merri, I'm just tired. Can you imagine that?"

Why yes you can. But the alternative is breaking his heart forever, as well as yours. Doesn't he get that? Doesn't he understand you're merely trying to protect him and the friendship you have?

Or had, anyway?

"So, Merri, just tell me the truth here. Why have you been going out of your way not to be near me? Are you really that repulsed by me? By what we did?"

The last part comes out as a strangled whisper, like he's having trouble getting the words out. Regardless of the troubles he's having uttering them, they hit their target with uncanny precision, causing you to gasp in pain.

What have you done?

"No! God Chris, is that what you thought?"

"What else was I supposed to think? You haven't as much as looked at me since it happened and we've been back for weeks!"

He's got you there. And you don't like it. This is not going your way, though you'll be damned if you know what way that would be. Damn those bricks, they gave you a concussion.

Chivalrous as ever, Chris gives you a moment to gather your (very wide-spread) wits as you sink in one of Loretta's kitchen chairs. Slowly, weighing every word, you start to talk, hoping to ease the blow you know you'll be giving him.

"I'm not repulsed by you or the night we spent together. It was too beautiful for that and I don't hold any regrets. But Chris…what happened in Jackson really needs to stay there. It can't be more than just a memory. We can't afford it to be more."

"Why not?"

Oh please, don't make it so difficult. Don't make me say things I don't want to say out loud. Ever.

"For starters, we're not in love."

He laughs bitterly.

"Speak for yourself."

Why, Chris? Why are you so hell-bent on impaling yourself? Take it back, please take it back. Your silent prayers of course fall on deaf ears. Chris has always been too honest for his own good. He will not deny the feelings he has just to pacify you.

His love for you is all the more real for it. And all the more devastating for the both of you.

"Unless…you can't, can you?"

His smile is half triumph, half hope as he reads the secret in your eyes before it can spill from your lips.

"You love me too, don't you Merri?"

"No, Chris…no…"

He steps closer, his arms wrapping themselves around you again, holding on strong, but not tight. His breath is warm against your cheek as he whispers in your ear.

"Why are you denying the obvious truth, Merri? You love me, I can tell."

It's so tempting to just give in. To let him take what he wants, what you want too. But you can't. It's too dangerous. You'll end up hurting him. His career. His life. Everything he's worked so hard for in his life.

Taking in a deep, shuddering breath and trying to ignore the pain you know you're about to inflict, you meet his eyes.

"I can't, Chris. We can't…"

He's not letting go, still persisting, stubborn as a mule.

"We can. We can have it, make it work."

Maybe getting angry helps. You start to pummel his chest with your fists, pretending not to see the pain of your constant rejection in his clouded blue gaze.

"No, we can't! There are rules set against it. It'll end either your or my career. We could never be partners anymore."

"Do you think King cares more about enforcing the rules than about us? And do you really believe my career matters more to me than you do?"

"Pride may not care, but as soon as they'd find out about us in Washington, they'll force his hand. And you may not care about that, but I do."

"Even if that would happen, it'll be okay. I can easily switch back to NOPD."

"Damn it, Chris, I don't want you to switch back! I don't want you to give up the work you love and I don't want to have to give up the partner I trust to have my back. If I need to choose between having you as a work partner of a life partner, I think I should pick the former. I don't want to have to work with someone else, not even with Pride or Sonja."

In the light of your decision, he does let go of you, but instead of looking defeated, his features still show a steely determination. Christopher LaSalle wants it all and he'll fight to have it. Stupidly enough, your heart can't decide whether this angers you or gives you hope.

Is there still hope? Could there be?

Raking his hand over his face, he takes a moment to prepare for the next round.

"Okay, let's recap for a moment, see what we've learned so far."

He sounds so much like Pride right now, you smother a small smile. Can't blame the guy for his analytical approach.

"First: I love you and you love me. No denying that anymore. But you don't want to start a relationship out of fear that we can't work together if either one of us is forced to resign, right?"

You nod, indeed unable to deny anything, though it's slightly disturbing to have all your deepest feelings being brought back down to almost clinical facts.

"Let me ask you something…if I can figure out a way to somehow circumvent the rules in a way that makes it possible for us to be together as both work and life partners, will you give us a chance?"

Oh sweet dreamer…

"Chris, how on earth…"

"Let me worry about the how. Just answer me, Merri."

Maybe you should tell him no, just to spare him the frustration of trying to find a way out of this catch-22. But you can't, because the dream is too tempting. What if he can? What if there actually is a way around this? A loophole in your contracts? A deal to strike?

So you nod, sealing your fate.

"Okay. If you can figure this out, I'll give us a chance. But Chris…"

"What?"

"You have to promise me one thing…if this doesn't work out the way we hope, will you let it go? Can you?"

It's a devastating promise you want him to make, but if this turns South (and since you're not known for your eternal optimism; you still think it's the most likely outcome), you need to know you can still remain professionals, if not friends.

He sighs, before nodding.

"It'll be hard, but yeah…if I can't find a way to work around this, then I'll let it go."

Somehow, this doesn't pacify you the way you thought it would. But since you asked for it…

"You…eh…you still want to eat something?"

You can't say you're particularly hungry, but he has gone through the trouble of preparing you a meal and to turn him down now would be rude, however weird this dinner may be in the light of your discussion.

So you nod and allow him to fill your plate with the curry chicken he's prepared. You take a delicate bite and hum in appreciation. Damn, the man can cook!

He grins at your face, contorted in ecstasy as you take another, much bigger bite.

"That's the kind of rapture I want to put on your face every day."

Almost choking, you cough until he hands you a glass of water, cheeks burning for more than one reason.

"So sorry, just couldn't help myself."

Yeah, if only you believed that. He's about as sincere as the cat who ate the canary. Yet, it shows you that he really wants to be with you and corny though his lines may be; it really is nice to know you're wanted and desired.

You only hope he knows how much you appreciate it and him. How much you really want to figure out a way to be together without breaking any fraternization rules. So you tell him, just to be sure. And get a sweet smile in return.

"Be hopeful, sweet Merri. We'll find a way."

Be hopeful. Not easy, but for both your sakes, you'll try your hardest.

TBC…

 _So…any thoughts? I'm always happy to hear them. Thanks for reading._


	7. Chapter 7

**AN** : I know, I know. I let life take control again and my readers had to suffer because of it. So you make it up to you all, I have decided to publish the last two chapters in one go. So here they are. I hope you enjoy!

 **Disclaimer** : Still not mine. So sorry.

Be hopeful, you told Merri. And you are, right? You can do this. There has to be a way. A loophole somewhere in your contract. A deal to make.

There has to be, you won't even consider the alternative. Which is never being anything more than a work partner. No matter how much you want to keep your promise to Merri, you're quite sure it'll tear you apart, having to see her every day and never getting to touch her, kiss her, love her the way you want to.

There has to be a way.

But you'll need help. Merri won't be too happy with your methods, but you see no other options than to tell King. He knows things. Knows the right people. Everyone in this city owes him a favor in some form. Plus, he knows you. He may be able to help you. And willing too, if only because you came to him before going behind his back.

The last thing you want is to put your boss, mentor and friend in a position where he becomes stuck in the middle of you and the big brass in DC. Rules are rules and though King is not a stickler to them, there is only so much he can do to defend you without getting into trouble himself, the moment the shit hits the fan. Which it inevitably will.

You owe him a lot more than that.

Hanging around in the kitchen after working hours always does the trick and from behind a plate of steak and fries, you carefully address the situation, being as honest about how this all came to be as you dare to be.

King, as you had hoped, lets you speak your mind, before grabbing your empty plates and returning with two pieces of Key lime pie for desert. Handing you your plate and a fork, he takes his own first bite. You know he's mulling things through in his head and wait patiently for him to start talking. When he does, his answer does not disappoint.

"Thanks, Christopher, for coming to me first and for being honest with me here."

"I owe you that much, King. But do you think you can help us?"

Wiping the crumbs from his mouth with his napkin, he nods.

"I think I have an idea, but it'll take some work, so bear with me. If it does work, it'll be a great way for Merri and you to be together."

"Anything I can do?"

"Not for now. Just keep working and let me try and handle this. I'll keep you posted, son."

"Thanks King, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. Merri too."

"No need to thank me now. I haven't done anything yet. And I think you deserve this, Christopher. You and Merri are good together."

With that, he puts the dishes in the washer and invites you to have a beer with him in the backyard. Knowing you have one friend firmly behind you, the beer tastes all the better.

***CL&MB***

Interlude: King/NCIS: Los Angeles

He promised Christopher he would look into it and that's what he'll do. He can't blame his agents for falling for each other. Working so closely together means people are bound to create a bond and this is not the first time that such a connection has turned into love. And if there is one man who deserves to be happy again with a woman he loves, it's Chris. Plus, Merri is a good woman for him, despite the difference in age.

He knows it's not something he can get done in a few days' time. There are rules even he can't bend, no matter how much he is inclined to look the other way. This needs a water proof solution, so it can't come back to bite them in the backside.

He has thought about getting in touch with the SecNav and call in some favors, but even though she owes him, he doesn't like the idea of her meddling into the private lives of his people. Having her agree to turn a blind eye to Christopher's and Merri's relationship places them in a tricky position that is totally depending on the goodwill of people higher up the food chain, which means that it'll take only one occasion of misunderstanding for the SecNav to throw them under a bus.

So that leaves the other option…He wasn't lying when he told Chris he has an idea that may just work. It was something Special Agent DiNozzo had casually mentioned to him on his last visit to the New Orleans office. Something about a relationship between work partners at the Los Angeles office, allowed due to some sort of deal between their local LEO's and NCIS. It will take some organization, but he's willing to do some work, if it means keeping Christopher with their team and seeing him happy with Merri.

He starts by placing a conference call to the DC office, where a slightly disgruntled director Vance and an even more chagrined looking assistant director Owen Granger (though when does the man ever look even remotely friendly?) give him permission to put his plan into action. That's step one.

After that, he calls the NOPD main office and makes an appointment with Mack Garrity for the next day. He and Mack go a way back and the man has yet to forgive Pride for stealing his best cop away from the force. He has never given up on his attempts to persuade Chris to rejoin his team. Well, now he just might. If Pride can get him to agree to the plan he has in mind.

The next morning, he picks up his car keys and informs his crew that he has some errands to run. At the NOPD main office, Mack listens carefully to King's story and, after some deliberation with the higher brass, agrees to try and make this solution work.

Step two taken care of successfully, Pride drives back to the office and requests a conference call between New Orleans and Los Angeles. Minutes later, the petite yet intimidating figure of Henrietta Lange appears on screen.

"Henrietta, what a pleasure to see you again."

"You flatter me, Dwayne Pride. How are things in the Big Easy? It's been too long since I've been there."

"You're always welcome to come taste my gumbo, Hetty."

"And one of these days, I may take your invitation. Now, Owen has been kind enough to inform me you had a request for me, so how may I help you?"

"I have a fraternization problem on my hands, but I hear you've come up with a rather brilliant solution for two of your people."

"I suppose you're referring to Miss Blye and Mr. Deeks?"

"Exactly. Detective Deeks is a liaison officer, right? Working from your office?"

"He is. But that was from the start and as far as I know, the construction was quite unique. It was not meant to accommodate his relationship with Miss Blye, if only because said relationship had not blossomed yet."

King smirks. He's known Hetty far too long to believe that.

"If that were true, why didn't you just offer the man an NCIS contract?"

"I have, he's turned it down."

"Was that before or after he fell in love?"

"Now, Mr. Pride, are you suggesting I know the innermost thoughts and feelings of my agents or liaison officer?"

Shaking his head in good humor, Pride decides to cut his losses. He still needs her help after all.

"Very well, Henrietta. I'm sure you played no part whatsoever in getting them together. But if you'll let me get back to the matter at hand, do you think it's feasible to send me a copy of said contract, minus all private details and classified information of course."

"I would have to discuss this with Mr. Deeks and his Lieutenant first."

"Of course, I understand."

"Let me get in touch with them. I'll call you back when I have the answers."

"That would be great. Thank you Hetty."

"You're most welcome. We'll talk soon."

A few days later…

This may be going faster than he had dared to hope for, but he can only be happy with that. He has yet to inform either Chris or Merri about his plan, reluctant to give them any false hope. If Hetty can't find a way to help them (unfathomable as that concept may be), he may not have anything to tell them at all. So no, he'll refrain from saying anything until he hears from the formidable NCIS Los Angeles superwoman, though it's pretty hard to ignore the hopeful looks cast in his direction by his protégé or the heated looks shared between Chris and Merri.

God, he may need to cuff them to their desks before they jump each other in the middle of the office. It surprises him that so far, neither Patton nor Sonja have seemed to notice anything. The smell of pheromones wafting from his senior agents gives him a headache.

He can only hope Hetty will come through soon. Real soon.

But as suspected and hoped, when he gets back in touch with her, she doesn't disappoint.

"Mr. Pride, I have spoken to Lieutenant Bates and Detective Deeks and both have agreed to send you a blank copy of the contract as it was drawn up between the LAPD, Mr. Deeks and this office. Mr. Deeks is on his way as we speak to hand over the contract himself, seeing as you may need a lawyer to get it legalized."

"Is he bringing a lawyer? We have attorneys here in New Orleans too you know."

"Yes I know, but Mr. Deeks is an excellent lawyer himself and already has all the inside knowledge needed for this little deal. He's been brushing up on Louisiana state legislation and I believe it'll spare you a lot of time if he can have this verified. Plus, he has never been to New Orleans before and I couldn't deny him the pleasure of a little extended holiday. He deserves it."

"I thank you Hetty. When can we be expecting him?"

As if on cue, there's a knock on the door and Pride turns away from the monitor to open it. In front of him stands Chris, flanked by a taller man in his early thirties, with scruffy blond hair, blue eyes and the easy-going, laid-back appearance of your typical Californian surfer.

The look on King's protégé's face is one of utter bewilderment as he addresses his boss.

"King, this is Detective Marty Deeks, LAPD, says he's here to see you, something about a classified mission?"

At first sight, Pride thinks he appears to be nothing else but the stereotype golden boy, but looking him more keenly in the eyes, he assesses there's a lot more to the man than meets the eye. There's a sharp intelligence hidden beneath the smile, as well as a deep well of human emotions that can only come from life experiences of the worst kind.

Well, nobody said working for or with NCIS is easy and perhaps especially so when working with the Office of Special Projects, most of its operations classified even to Pride. Their reputation surely says enough. And since he was handpicked by Henrietta Lange…

Taking an instant liking to the man, he stretches out his hand.

"Welcome Detective Deeks. Or can I call you Marty?"

"Please, just call me Deeks. And you must be Agent Pride."

"Friends call me Dwayne, good friends call me King."

"I'll stick with Dwayne for the moment then."

After a firm handshake, Pride ends his call to Hetty with a word of thanks and invites their guest into the kitchen, with Chris trailing behind them, still clueless about this man and what his visit can mean.

"Should I leave you alone, King?"

Gotta hand it to Christopher, he knows the meaning of classified and will curtail his curiosity if King has something to discuss that is above his paygrade.

"No, that's okay son, you are actually needed for this operation."

He starts rummaging through the fridge, taking out several jars and bottles.

"You hungry?"

Deeks, deciding the question was addressed to him, nods enthusiastically.

"Starving actually. The cardboard sandwich on the plane does very little to satisfy a man's stomach."

"Truer words were rarely spoken. I'll prepare us some dinner. Christopher, why don't you show Deeks here into the courtyard and get yourselves some cold beers."

***CL&MB***

You're still completely puzzled about this man's presence and the reason behind it, but you do as you're told, hoping someone will fill you in soon. It can't be about a case, since your office doesn't usually share cases with the LAPD and it doesn't seem like King knows this man from Adam, so what's going on?

Unless…could he have anything to do with your boss's promise to help you and Merri? Speaking of which…

"Where's Merri?"

"With Patton. He found some evidence on the Bailor case. She should be back any minute. Percy's gone home for the day. She had some private things to take care of."

Deeks, bottle in his hands, is wandering around the courtyard, trailing back and taking a seat at the table, folding his long legs underneath him. Sensing your nerves, he tries to distract you by asking tons of questions about the city and all the mischief he can get himself into. His easy manners relaxes you and you find yourself taking a liking to him. Analyzing him as much as he is scrutinizing you, you come to the conclusion that his almost lethargic perspective on life is merely a front.

This man has seen things. Both beautiful and horrific. And they have left their mark. As it does with most law enforcement personnel.

Light footsteps come closer, signaling the arrival of your partner.

"You guys making dinner? I'm starving. Oh, we have a guest."

Deeks stands and offers his hand in greeting.

"Marty Deeks, LAPD. You must be Special Agent Brody."

Puzzled, Merri nonetheless takes his hand and shakes it.

"Meredith Brody. Please call me Merri. Or Brody."

"Going by your last name too huh? In that case, call me Deeks. Everyone does."

"Very well. Deeks it is."

You're spared the awkward silence by Pride, coming in with a huge bowl of gumbo and a couple of plates.

"Southern specialty with a Dwayne Pride twist." He announces to your guest as he fills the first plate and sets it down in front of him.

Curious, Deeks picks up his fork and takes a bite.

He chews carefully for a moment, swallows and allows a big grin to overtake his features.

"Excellent."

"Yes it is, if I do say so myself."

"How did you get it cooked so fast?"

"I have to admit I smuggled. This was prepared last week. I merely had to reheat it, but for gumbo, people say it merely adds to the flavor."

"Well, whatever the reason, it's amazing. I do like to cook myself, but I rarely have time in between chasing bad guys, surfing, my dog and cleaning up after my ladybird. God knows I love her, but she's a slob."

Plates filled, you all dig in, following the enthusiastic detective's example. For a moment, all that can be heard is the clicking of utensils against plates as you enjoy the fruits of King's labor.

"So, detective Deeks, what brings you to the Big Easy?"

Gotta love Merri and her impatience.

Deeks shares a quick glance with Pride, who nods. Whatever is going on, these two are in it together. Intrigued, you lean forward to hear the explanation.

"I'm here to help with a very delicate situation."

Almost as a teaser, he takes another fork full of food and washes it away with the last swallow of beer, prompting King to stand up and get some refills.

Antsy, Merri pulls her seat in a little closer, shoving her empty plate away so she can lean over.

"And what would that be?"

"Office fraternization."

His deadpan answer has your partner lean back again, while you eagerly lean in. So you were right, King has brought this LAPD officer in because he somehow has the key to solving your problem…you're anxious to know how this came about.

Seeing your anxiety, the detective puts down his now empty bottle and start talking.

"Let me tell you some relevant things about myself. You know I'm an LAPD detective, but I don't actually work with them. I am what they call, a liaison officer between LAPD and the NCIS Los Angeles Office of Special Projects. Which in practice means I work with NCIS, from their office, with all the same security clearances as all NCIS Agents. I just get paid by LAPD for keeping them in the loop during joint cases. They can also occasionally call me back for some undercover work, but those cases are few and far between these days."

Just as you wonder about why the man has never just switched roles, he continues.

"Hetty Lange…"

He pauses for a moment so you all have a chance to ask him who Hetty Lange is, but there's no need. The pint-sized lady is an NCIS legend and you don't think there's even one Agent left who hasn't heard of her, regardless of where they're located.

"She's offered me a permanent position at NCIS some time ago, but now I'm happy I haven't taken it. You see, there's a good reason I haven't. And said reason is also the reason I'm here now. I can help you."

Underneath the table, you suddenly feel Merri's hand on your knee. Your own hand finds hers and squeezes it. Deeks accepts a new beer from King, who has returned to the table. Both you and Merri accept one too, eagerly waiting for Deeks to swallow his sip and continue. With a smile, he does.

"My staying with LAPD now comes in handy. You see, my ladybird, my Kensalina, also happens to be Special Agent Kensi Blye, my NCIS partner. So while I get to work with her daily and take her home afterwards, there are no fraternization rules to take into account."

The penny drops, both with you and Merri, whose grip on your hand intensifies.

"So now what…"

You don't get to finish your question, because Deeks is already pushing a manila folder in your direction.

"Your boss here must really care for you. He has gotten in touch with Hetty to see if a situation like mine can't be somehow reconstructed."

With a nod in your direction, you're told to open the folder. Inside, you find a few papers stapled together. With both the NCIS and NOPD shields on top of it, it looks to be a contract. You scan it through.

From the look of things, your old NOPD Vice squad welcomes you back into their folds, lending you on a semi-permanent basis to NCIS, where you will function as a liaison between the two agencies.

"Is this eh…?"

"Legal? Verified with NOPD and the Director?" Deeks finishes.

You nod and in answer, so does he.

"Yes to all. All mentioned parties have agreed to these terms and the contract, once signed, is legally binding. All you need to do is go to NOPD and retake the oath in order to get your new badge."

"Can I have this checked by a lawyer?"

Deeks shakes his head.

"No need. You're looking at one. I'm still licensed to practice law, so you're all set, Agent, or perhaps I should say, Detective LaSalle."

The pressure from Merri's hand on your knee has become painful and so you grant her her obvious wish and slide the contract towards her. She reads intently for a moment and when she looks up, you ask her the question you feel she should answer as well as you.

"So, whaddaya say, Miss Brody. To sign or not to sign?"

"It's quite a pay cut."

You shrug. Money was never much of a drive for you. If it was; you would have joined your dad in the oil business years ago.

"I can still afford all I need."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Merri. I can even afford to take you out on the occasional date."

You lean in closer to whisper in her ear: "You can pay for those too you know. I kinda like the idea of being a kept man."

The elbow in your ribs is deserved and you laugh it off, your smirk only growing bigger when she pushes the contract back to you.

"Sign it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your looks grow heated with the implications sinking in. This is not just the start of a new career (if only on paper), but also of something beautiful with the woman you love.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, kiss the girl already!"

Deeks's comment shakes you out of your trance and you laugh. The man has a point though. With one glance at Pride (who mumbles something about pheromones and hurries inside like he is chased by the devil), you lean in closer to Merri and capture her lips in a short, sweet kiss.

With some effort, you manage to keep it PG, but your heart misses a beat when you look at Merri's flushed face. You can hardly wait to take her home tonight…

In the meantime, Pride has returned to the table.

"I made an appointment with Lieutenant Mack Garrity for lunch tomorrow. We're expected at the NOPD precinct at noon for your oath. I suggest you get your dress blues out of storage, providing you still have them."

You nod, knowing exactly where your uniform is.

"Will do."

God, your dress blues. You can only hope the stuff still fits. It'll feel funny to be wearing them again, after so many years. If it were up to you, there would not be this much pump and circumstance with you rejoining the NOPD ranks, but hey, you'll go with the ceremony. Plus, you're excited to see Merri's reaction to you wearing a uniform she has never seen before and will (if it's up to you) never see again.

Oh well, some chicks dig uniforms. Time to figure out if Merri's one of them. And there may be some fun stuff you could do with the handcuffs later…

Wait…

"Who's invited to this little happening, King?"

"Whoever you want, son."

You turn to Merri first, but she's nodding like a bobble head and you peck her on the cheek for her effort. So you turn to Deeks.

"I'd like you to be there too. This could not have happened without you. "

"You're probably right, so yeah thanks for the invite. I'll be there."

You grin at the man's total lack of modesty.

It's decided you should all gather at the NCIS building first and head for NOPD together. At least it'll give you time to explain your new status to Sonja, Patton, Loretta and Sebastian.

After some excellent homemade apple crumble from King, you say your goodbyes and head home, holding onto Merri's hand for all to see.

It's good to be out in the open with this.

 _Next chapter is already up and loaded, so go ahead…_


	8. Chapter 8

Damn, the man looks good. Well, admittedly, he looks good in anything (and nothing, especially in nothing; with maybe only those handcuffs and a can of whipped cream, hmmm yummy) and you never thought of yourself as a sucker for men in uniform, but oooh boy. Your hormone-fueled body is attracted to the dress blues like a moth to a flame and you'd be lying if you said you weren't trying your hardest to refrain from drooling.

Of course he catches you ogling (busted, Brody!) and the smirk on his handsome features only adds to his attractiveness. As well as the fact he's doing this all for you.

How could you have fooled yourself; thinking it was better not to have any of this?

God, how you adore him.

It's nine AM, way too early for your sleep-deprived body as its stamina was thoroughly put through the test last night. After helping him dig out the dress pants and shirt he hadn't worn in a decade and him trying it on for size (marveling at the fact that, though a bit snug around his biceps, it still fit), you were equally quick at stripping him out of it, not caring about your wrist that was still in its cast (only two more weeks to go) and the consequent ripping of one of your better looking shirts.

Oh well, in this case, the end truly did justify the means. For weeks you've been trying to convince yourself that your one night together was embellished and that it had not been as spectacular is you remembered it to be.

Well, whatever it is, last night proved one thing: you two are an unbelievable match between the sheets. It was by far the most rewarding, most relaxed and yes, most loving time you ever spent with any man, even better than in Jackson, because last night wasn't born out of some desperate need, but rather out of finally and fully acknowledging your mutual decision to give this relationship a real chance.

Plus, thinking about last night is certainly better than watching poor Chris LaSalle struggle with nerves right now. For some reason, explaining his appearance as well as his decision to your coworkers makes him queasy, not sure if they'll accept the new status quo. All but perhaps Loretta will be quite surprised.

First one to arrive on the scene (except for Deeks, who accepted Pride's offer to stay for the night and Pride himself, who was waiting for you with fresh coffee and beignets to celebrate the occasion) is Sonja. As she strolls into the kitchen where the four of you are gathered, she does a double take at the sight of your uniformed partner.

"Look at you, country mouse. Halloween starting early this year? And who may our guest be?"

"Get your panties out of a twist, Percy. All will be explained soon. Have some coffee."

Shrugging, Sonja accepts a mug of hot liquid from Pride and sits down, a frown still adorning her features as she studies Deeks, who remains stoic underneath her scrutinizing gaze.

Next to show up is Patton, who actually hits the brakes on his wheelchair so hard they screech.

"What has happened here? Joined a strip club? And who may this be?"

He too is brought to silence by a cup of coffee, him and Percy sharing confused looks over the table.

When twenty minutes later, both Sebastian and Loretta arrive, everyone of importance is here. Again, you can tell just by the way Chris swallows his last sip of coffee how nervous he really is. Strange how, after such a short time of being intimate, you are already so tuned in to even his smallest gestures and facial expressions.

Deliberately standing away from the others, he starts his explanation, but bewildered, he looks at his (former) boss, who understand and takes over.

"I guess you're all wondering why Christopher is in his old NOPD dress blues, so let me tell you. As of later today, there will be no more Special Agent LaSalle. Instead, Christopher will be once more Detective LaSalle, NOPD."

"You're leaving us? Why?"

Sonja looks a little put off, switching looks between Pride and Chris, looking like someone watching a tennis match.

"He's not. Chris will remain exactly where he is, working as a communications officer between NOPD and NCIS. He'll still be working from this office, going to crime scenes and following our lead, but ultimately, he'll decide on which cases we need to share jurisdiction with NOPD and when to keep both agencies in the loop on current cases. It should make for quicker results and better understanding between both agencies."

Sonja, still flabbergasted, nods and keeps her mouth shut, but Patton is yet to be satisfied.

"That's all very well, but what brought this on? Whose idea was this to begin with? And by the way, who's the new dude here?"

"The new dude is LAPD Detective Marty Deeks, who plays a similar role at our Los Angeles Office. He's been paramount in getting this liaison function sanctioned."

"OK, that answers one question, but how about the other one. Why?"

Now it's time for Pride to let Chris do the explaining and, scraping his throat, he catches your eye. Sending him as much strength as you can convey without moving, he starts his own part of the story.

"Pride came up with the idea to create this position to help me circumvent certain NCIS rules and regulations, without actually having to quit working here."

"What kind?" Sonja now asks, eager to know the whole story.

A mild blush is spreading on your adorable partner's face. It's all you can do to remain standing at a distance.

"The eh…the fraternization kind."

Though of course everybody knows what those rules are all about, all newly gathered people exchange looks of utter bewilderment. All except for Loretta, who is trying to hide a knowing smile, clearly happy her own moment of meddling has paid off.

"Fraternization? Who the hell is here for you to fraternize with?" Sonja again questions.

Now Chris grins.

"Well, since I haven't switched sides and turned gay overnight and it's not you and, bless her, not Miss Loretta, that only leaves one possibility, doesn't it, city-mouse?"

With that, he reaches out his hand for you to take and, smiling and letting all your love for this amazing man shine through, you move forward to take it. He kisses the back of your hand as you take a stand next to him, beaming with love and pride.

If this were a cartoon, you could probably see the younger Agent's jaw dropping on the floor as her eyes bulge straight out of their sockets. The silence is so deafening for a moment, you wouldn't be surprised if you would see tumbleweeds come flying by.

It's then that Loretta comes to the rescue again.

"Well, my children, if this is what makes you happy, than I am happy for you too. Congratulations, Honey, on both the job and the chance of love."

She pulls Chris in for a hug and includes you too. You whisper a quick word of thanks in her ear. If it wasn't for Loretta…

Sonja however, is still not quite getting it.

"This is a joke, right? Some kind of pre-Halloween, April fools, Voodoo thing?"

"It's October, Percy, bit too late for April fools. And no, we ain't bewitched either. We've fallen in love, that's all."

Though the grin is still on his face as you both now accept the well-wishes of Patton and (a little awkwardly as usual) Sebastian, you can tell he's getting annoyed by the snotty behavior of the other agent. Why is it so hard for her to understand that some people are capable of developing deeper feelings for one another?

Why can't she just be happy for you? Well, apparently, she can't because she now turns on you.

"Oh, come on Brody, don't tell me you're into this joke too?"

Sigh. Keep calm. Chris's grip on your hand steadies you.

"Do you see me laughing?"

She still doesn't look at all convinced and when she rolls her eyes in disgust, you've had enough. Now normally, you're not one for PDA, but just to prove a point, you pull Chris closer to you and place your lips on his. Reacting immediately and instinctively, Chris answers and even deepens the kiss, causing you to momentarily forget where you are and who is surrounding you.

A hand on Chris's shoulder makes your partner retreat and the loss of contact (you barely stifle your mewl of disappointment) plunges you both back to reality. Looking around, your cheeks burn with shame. Patton is falling out of his chair with laughter, Sebastian is chewing on his thumbnail and is muttering in himself and Percy is staring at you with a mutinous look on her face, but at least she's silent.

"Okay, point proven, knock it off you two."

Pride as always, is the calm voice of reason, neither shaming nor goading you.

A little shamefaced, you bury your red face in Chris's neck, but with a chuckle and a small peck on your cheek, he lets go of you, rubbing his own face to get the pinkish tinge off his cheeks.

Too bad embarrassed Chris is all kinds of adorable to you. God, you can't wait to get him alone tonight…better keep some more distance between the two of you, or you may not be held responsible for your next course of action.

Chris is more successful in overcoming his awkwardness than you are as now all your coworkers join in to congratulate the both of you on your found love and Chris's new position. Graciously, he accepts all well-wishes and invites all who want to join him later for the little reinstatement ceremony at NOPD.

Sebastian declines, claiming he has too much work to get back to, which is no surprise. Gatherings like these tend to make him nervous, so you let the obvious excuse go.

Patton and Loretta are in, also not surprisingly. Sonja hesitates, knowing she has again put her foot in her mouth. But Chris being Chris, he's a lot quicker to forgive than you are and badgers her into coming along.

Your party of seven leaves somewhat later and are being met by another small group of Chris's new NOPD Vice team, most of which he already knows and likes. You actually feel a bit emotional when you watch him sign his new contract and get sworn in by Mack Garrity.

He did this all for you. How did you come to deserve such a man? You're convinced you don't, but you're determined to work your hardest to get there. It takes a while after that with people tumbling all over themselves to shake his hand, for him to reach you.

Grinning like a kid, he shows you his badge.

"Like that Merri?"

Oh yes, you like.

Checking if no one else is watching, you quickly peck his lips.

"Thank you, Chris, for doing this for me, for us."

"Best of both worlds, Sweet Merri. I'm glad we found a way."

"Me too. Real glad."

He smirks against you lips, stealing one more kiss before whispering in your ear.

"I'm taking these cuffs home tonight. You can show me exactly how glad you are…"

There are a gazillion of answers to give to that, but as you're soon surrounded by people again, you refrain from mentioning any of them.

But indeed, you're planning on showing him tonight.

Is there anything sexier than Meredith Brody wearing your dress blue shirt unbuttoned over her naked chest while being cuffed to your bedposts? If there is, you'd like to see it, but you don't think anything can top the way she looked the night after your installation as NOPD officer. You really made the most out of your 'good cop vs bad cop' fantasy and gave her all the corporal punishment she so well and truly deserved. You're almost sad now that you won't get to wear the shirt more often, but then again, if you do, you'll probably make a fool of yourself by standing at attention in more ways than one.

God, how you love her and God how wonderful it is to be able to just say so, out loud, whenever you want to. To have her say it back without the slightest hint of hesitation. To tell by looking at her that she means it and to show her every which way you can think of you mean it too.

Strange how you never envisioned yourself being all domestic with Savannah, even though you had cleaned out some closet space for her and had basically asked her to move in with you. Now, with Merri, it comes natural. There is hardly any thought process involved, but only a few weeks after your reinstatement, she's practically living with you. Several articles of clothing have found their way into your closet, her toiletries take up more space in your bathroom than yours and she's even changed your darn voicemail message. A flawless migration of lives.

And where you had once assumed the lack of privacy and the feminizing of your bachelor pad (sometimes you joke with her that you were happier when most of her girly stuff was still safely packed away in her moving boxes) would choke the life out of you, you're oddly at peace with it. Might even come to love it, since you find yourself missing her when she's at her own space for whatever reason, holding onto her pillow by lack of warm body to curl yourself around.

These days, those occasions are few and far between and though you don't have any kind of schedule, it always works out naturally.

At work, nothing has really changed. People have gotten used to the status quo by now and though you may blurt out 'Federal Agent' by mistake more than once, there's really no one in a hurry to correct you. So far, NOPD seems to trust you in your new role and indeed, communication between both local and federal law enforcement offices seems to be going a lot more smoothly these days.

A few weeks into your new settlement, Pride motions you over and hands you a report marked "Classified".

"I pulled some strings. Show this to Merri, before the evening news gets a hold of the story. I think it'll be easier coming from you."

Intrigued and instinctively knowing you may not like whatever is in this folder, you take your girlfriend's hand and lead her to the courtyard. Heads close together, you open the file.

It's the official report of the inquiry into the train accident.

Scanning through the content, you find the cause. And what you read there is a blow to your senses.

The train was derailed when the driver missed a signal. At first, his mistake was determined to be nothing more than that. Until, after some digging into the man's private life, authorities found a hefty sum of money on an offshore account and a bundle of websites and emails linked to an American based, pro-Islamic organization.

That changed the outlook on things. Suddenly, the derailment was said to be intentional. An attack. That part will probably make the headlines by tomorrow or perhaps sooner than that.

At least the bastard survived and as soon as he's back on his feet he will stand trial for his actions. God, you hope this will be dealt with under the Patriot Act, which means this a-hole will never see freedom again. Hell, you'll transport him to Gitmo yourself if you have to. Gladly so.

Twenty people dead (the last victim; a 65-year old recently retired man travelling with his wife, succumbed to his burn injuries only a few days ago) and still dozens in the hospital or rehab. All because some crazed man wanted to kill some 'infidels' and make a name for himself as a martyr. What world is it you live in these days?

Merri pushes the file away. This should be nothing new to either one of you; you've dealt with even worse criminals before, but it's always more difficult when loved ones are involved. When it becomes personal.

You gather her in your arms as she cries on your shoulder, glad to be able to comfort her this way. She then pulls out her phone and with Pride's permission, calls her cousin. Courtney, who, come to think of it, doesn't even know about the two of you yet.

As far as you can listen in, she takes it rather well, though she of course, is shocked that someone was out to kill her and the other passengers. And that he partly succeeded.

She hangs up with the promise to see her again soon. Something you wholeheartedly agree with.

That night, for some reason, your lovemaking is more potent, more charged as you try and convey all your feelings for her throughout the melting of your bodies.

I love you. I'll watch over you. I'll give my life to keep you safe. You're safe here with me. I love you.

Because you do.

And that's just the way it should be.

Epilogue:

"I have no idea how one person can accumulate this much crap in forty years," your cousin mumbles as she drags yet another heavy box in the so far empty room of her newly bought home.

In New Orleans.

"I don't know either, but I do recognize it from a certain someone," your boyfriend pipes in, carrying two boxes stacked on top of each other and balancing them precariously as he steps over the threshold.

You would whack him upside the head with the paperback book you're holding, if you weren't so concerned he would actually take a tumble.

Annoying man-child he may be from time to time, you're still as crazy about him as you were when you started dating, now almost a year ago.

A lot has happened since, both for you and Courtney. Both of you testified in court during the trial of the train driver, which was hard, but cathartic. He's rotting away in a maximum security prison where he'll spend twenty-three hours of his days in isolation, until the state of Mississippi decides it's time to put the needle in his veins.

For your cousin though, it was not her only time to testify in court. A few weeks after she came home from the train collision, Mark came home after a weekend with his father, sporting a black eye. Not trusting his story about walking into a kitchen cabinet door (the growing boy is clumsy sometimes, but no idiot), she did some poking and prodding and found out her ex had beaten his son for running away to see his wounded mother.

She went to confront him, which earned her a black eye for her trouble. Luckily, the neighbors heard the yelling and called the police.

Adrian was now in jail for assault on his ex and minor son and Courtney successfully filed for sole custody.

Wanting to make a brand new start, far away from all that has happened to her, she decided to move to New Orleans to be closer to you. Mark is thrilled to start a new chapter in his life, already submerging himself into the rich culture and striking up a friendship with Danny and CJ, all within the first few days of moving in. He'll start school next semester and is looking to join the local football team. It's good to know that the fall-out with his father hasn't left any lasting impression on him, other than a fierce protectiveness over his mother.

Also, he worships Chris and you're happy your young second cousin (more like a nephew to you) has found a much stronger, more reliable male role model in your boyfriend.

You and Chris are doing fine. You've now officially moved in with him and give or take a few small altercations, you're getting along very well. He's just so damn sweet and considerate. Sometimes you still think he's selling himself short, but then again, he's an adult and not exactly a pushover.

He just loves you so fully, so completely, it sometimes terrifies you. Will you ever be able to give back to him what he gives you? Whenever your doubts set in, he's quick to reassure you. He loves you for who you are, flaws and all and in his own words, he 'ain't no saint himself'.

Mostly, that's enough for you.

That evening, as the four of you share the best of take-out Cajun food the city has to offer, you look around with a sense of contentment.

Everything and everyone you care about is right where they should be.

Near you.

THE END


End file.
